For all three of you
by LittlePippin76
Summary: Mary gets stuck with the worse imaginable birthing partner (Mycroft and Moriarty excepted). Sherlock copes surprisingly well. This is fluffy, light-hearted nonsense. Oh, and it's a baby fic, so if you're not mad keen on those, this won't be for you.
1. Chapter 1

**You know how I like writing baby fics, right? Well, they've gone and made it nearly canon. This will be fluffy nonsense.**

**I'd also like to direct you to Sarah Knight's new story 'Sentenced'. That is not fluffy nonsense, but an exceptionally well written case fic, and a very good read. And she's kindly published it complete. It's here s/10204492/1/ (and if that link doesn't work, it's in my favourites list).**

**Now - the promised fluffy nonsense. As usually, I'll give you a chapter a day.**

**Pip xxx**

* * *

'We'll have about five minutes.'

John sighed and looked up at his wife.

'I know you keep saying this, but I really think it's going to be fine.'

'No, we'll have five minutes.'

She looked certain.

'So you're basically saying if we don't give Sherlock our daughter to hold in the five minutes after he's first laid eyes on her, he won't touch her at all, ever. Five minutes and one second would be too late?'

'No, I'm not saying never ever. I'm just saying, we'll have about five minutes from first sight before he's processed and sorted and will have filed her away as something that's very much the domain of other people.'

'I've known Sherlock for years now, and believe me; we'd prefer our daughter to be something that's very much the domain of other people.'

Mary watched him, her eyes twinkling, annoyingly.

'You don't mean that,' she said. 'You want him to be a part of her life.'

'And he will be,' John said. He'd have to be. John was utterly determined on this; more determined even than Mary, who hadn't let the 'five minute problem' rest for several weeks. He wasn't entirely sure if he was fighting Mary for the sake of it, or whether he just did have more faith in Sherlock. 'I just think she will be whether he first holds her at three minutes or seven minutes or twelve minutes.'

She prodded him with her toes. 'It'll need to be three minutes,' she said. 'Seven minutes will be too late.'

'It won't be too late.' The sound of the key fitting the lock drifted into the flat. 'Hey up. Talk of the devil….'

He looked up, waiting for Sherlock to appear. He didn't move other than that. He stayed where he was on the end of the sofa, while Mary reclined against the other end, occasionally wriggling her toes into his thigh.

Sherlock appeared in their living room, well wrapped in his coat and scarf despite the pleasant spring weather outside.

John smiled at him. 'Good morning.'

Sherlock stared.

'Can we help you with anything?'

'Why aren't you dressed?'

'It's only just turned eight.'

'Has it?' Sherlock charged to the window to check this. 'I thought it was still last night. Anyhow, can you come?'

John took a long, deep breath. Mary merely smiled.

'I need to check,' John said, 'before we come to the whys and wherefores of this case which you've told me absolutely nothing about; do you remember what I spoke to you about on Sunday evening after dinner?'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. 'Was it related to…' he searched his memory. 'Forgery?'

'No. Guess again.' He allowed a hard edge to enter his voice, and Sherlock clearly registered this. He stood back and thought further. His gaze slipped from John and travelled along the sofa to Mary.

He took a breath.

'Mary, obviously, of course, and the whole pregnancy thing.' He waved an ambiguous hand at her. 'Of course I remember. I wouldn't forget a thing like that.'

'What _specifically_ related to Mary's pregnancy, did we discuss on Sunday?' John asked.

The look now was spectacularly blank, and John sighed.

'Mary is now full term,' he recapped. 'Her due date isn't for another eighteen days, but the baby could basically arrive at any time in the next five weeks, and so I would prefer to remain closer to home at the moment.'

'How close to home do you need to be? Because I'm only talking as far...'

'Closer than there,' John said.

'I have, in fairness, done most of the work,' Sherlock said. 'All the thinking side of things that you're not capable of is all done.'

'OK.'

'I just thought you might want to come along for the actual arrest.'

'Where is it?' Mary asked.

'Green Lanes. I'm hoping to surprise him at his factory.'

She glanced at John. 'That really isn't far. What factory?'

'He's involved in the carpentry business on a fairly large scale.'

'Big machinery,' Mary said, waggling her toes into John's thigh. 'Big, dangerous industrial saws…'

'I'm not going,' John said.

'You should take your gun,' she said.

'I'm not going.'

She sighed and put her feet down and pulled herself around.

'Fine. I'll take your gun.'

'Wait, what?' John said. 'You can't go!'

'If this is about the pregnancy thing again, I have to say, that's getting really boring as excuses go.'

'Yes! That's what I think too!' Sherlock said.

'And he does too,' Mary said, putting out her hand and letting Sherlock pull her from the chair. 'He's bored out of his skull and he needs you to take him out for one last fling before all the nappies and sleepless nights set in.'

'Don't try to handle me!' John snapped.

'Come on then, husband,' Mary said. 'Go and get dressed. Actually, come and get dressed; I need to get out too.'

'What?' John stood up too. 'What are you talking about? We can't go on a jolly, family trip out to catch a murderer!'

'He's a forger,' Sherlock said. 'If you wanted to be precise.'

'So no real danger then,' Mary said.

'Not really.'

'Shame. Still, it's better than nothing I suppose. Wait here while I get dressed.'

She started slowly up the stairs. They were still watching her several seconds later, as she took each step slowly and leaned heavily on the banister as she went.

'You see?' John said, unable to contain himself any longer. 'You can't come! You can barely move around the house.'

'I'm going, and that's final!' she called as she vanished around the corner.

John gave Sherlock a look, hoping for some solidarity, but Sherlock's mind had clearly wandered back to the case.

'I can't believe you,' he muttered.

Sherlock frowned, startled. 'What aspect of me are you having trouble with?' he asked. 'I'm much the same as I've always been.'

John nodded. 'Yes. That's what I'm having trouble with. Wait here – I'm going to try to persuade her out of this.'

'I wouldn't bother. You won't succeed, so it'll just be a waste of time and energy.'

'There are times when you're the giddy limit.'

'Yes. You've often said.'

John gave up and darted up to the bedroom. Mary was sitting on the end of the bed wearing her maternity jeans and a triumphant look.

'She must have shifted,' she said. 'I couldn't do the trousers yesterday, but today I can.'

'Hurray,' John said.

'Still can't do my socks though,' she said, waiving them at him.

'And yet you want to chase Sherlock around. Of course, that's an excellent plan.'

'Just do my socks.' She looked down as he knelt at her feet. 'I don't want to chase Sherlock. I want you to chase Sherlock while I sit in the car, watching your sexy bottom chase Sherlock and whoever this forger is.'

'Couldn't you just wait here?'

'No. I need to get out. I swear I've never been so bored.'

'We could go for a walk around…'

'Around the park, yes, I know. We've done that several times this week. I can't tell you how stimulating the flowerbeds in the ruddy park are. Now, help me stand up again and get dressed, or I really will go without you.'

oOo

If it weren't for the fact that he was properly sulking, John might have felt able to admit that he was, slightly, possibly, looking forward to whatever was going to happen. Obviously, he was looking forward to the baby too, but he was also slightly looking forward to the forger.

He wasn't particularly listening to what Sherlock was saying as he sat in the passenger seat next to a confused and concerned Lestrade. There were certain details relating to the case coming at him, and a fair amount of showing off, but what John was mostly thinking was 'I wonder if I'll actually get to run. And possibly tackle. And maybe punch a bit…'

'This really isn't regulation,' Lestrade muttered for the third time.

'I'm fine,' Mary said. 'Really, I'm just an innocent spectator.'

John snorted, and instantly tried to cover it with a cough. Mary had seen though, and for a second her face turned sour and upset. She swallowed it quickly though, and he squeezed her hand in an encouraging and apologetic way. She gave him a quick smile.

'Right, here we are,' Sherlock said.

They drove into a large, but quiet car park outside a medium sized, red-brick factory.

'Why is nobody here?' Sherlock asked.

'Bank Holiday,' John replied.

'Is it? Well, that makes things easier.' The car came to a standstill, and they both got out.

'Stay here,' John said to Mary, firmly.

'I'll be as quiet and still as a mouse.'

'Good.'

He joined Sherlock and they strolled together towards the factory door.

'What does he forge anyway?' John asked. 'Money?'

'No, that would be too boring. This chap is forging government documents. It's causing havoc in the secret services. Other people's I mean; not ours.'

'Wouldn't it be more worrying if he was leaking actual true things?'

'Not according to Mycroft. He likes to have complete control over what reaches the ears of other governments.'

'Right.'

'I'm not sure that mice are known for being still,' Sherlock said. 'Also, in the right conditions, they're not that quiet either. I'm just saying.'

'Shut up,' John said, looking around.

As he did so, he noted a few things that seemed strangely out of place. There was a row of neat oil barrels that seemed to have been moved there recently. He couldn't say for sure why there might be oil barrels in a carpentry factory, but he supposed there might be petrol driven machinery inside. He wouldn't have expected the barrels to be arranged so neatly though.

The pattern of the cars in the carpark was strange too. The few cars that were there had not been placed close to the factory entrance, as you might expect.

The gate in the chain-link fence was closed but the chain that locked it was hanging loosely through its hooks.

He couldn't say precisely why these things bothered him, but he noticed Sherlock was slowing and frowning around too.

'Something's wrong…' Sherlock muttered.

John was uncomfortably aware that his pregnant wife was just a few meters away, and that the car wouldn't offer too much protection from certain things.

'Yeah, Sherlock, I'm going to….'

A wiry looking man popped up from behind a barrel and pointed a gun right at them. Sherlock and John stopped walking instantly.

'I know who you are!' he called.

John judged, from the pitch of his voice that he was nervous as hell. He put his hands up, and allowed his hips to relax so he could stand in the least threatening pose possible.

'Where's Simpson?' Sherlock called.

'Never you mind!'

The man's attention was caught, presumably by Lestrade over to their right, and his gaze and his gun moved to there.

John thought of Mary in the car just behind Lestrade, and the split second of panic caused the mistake.

Rather than relax and diffuse the situation, something he knew he could do perfectly easily, he found his gun in his hand, and it was pointing at the gunman opposite.

The gunman panicked, spun his weapon around, and attempted to disable John.

It was a bad shot over a fair distance, and even as it hit, and the pain flooded out of his left hand side, John knew that this was not a kill shot. On the other hand, it was hugely inconvenient, and it hurt like hell.

He was aware that the factory door had opened, and a fat little man in a suit had wrestled the gunman inside amid a torrent of angry yells.

Sherlock spun around to John looking terrified as he located the bullet wound.

'Forwards or backwards?' he yelled, his eyes bulging. 'Forwards or backwards?'

'What?' John said.

'How do you want to fall?'

'I don't ruddy care! Just get me down!'

Sherlock grabbed at him to ease him to the floor, and John could see past to where Mary, pale faced, was getting out of the car.

'Oh God damn it!' he muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was horribly aware of his own heart pounding hard in his chest, and the fact that his mouth had turned dry, and he was fighting to swallow. He cursed to himself and refused to allow the panic to take hold. He looked down at John.

John looked mostly surprised, and mildly pissed off.

Sherlock stared down at the shot wound, the blood already flowing freely in gentle pulses. The bullet hadn't blocked the wound the way it had when he was shot. He processed this in an aloof, interested sort of way, and then the panic set in again.

'You're bleeding! What do I do?'

'Well stop it, you silly sod,' John said.

Sherlock startled and quickly started removing his scarf, but smaller, paler hands were there first, pushing a balled up cardigan hard onto the wound. Sherlock looked into Mary's furious eyes.

'How could you let him get shot!' she snapped.

'I didn't mean…' Sherlock blinked. There were annoying tears, and he was so emotionally disoriented that he couldn't tell if they were a response to John or a response to Mary.

'I think I'm fine,' John muttered, watching them both with an air of supreme calm.

'I swear to God, Sherlock, if he dies, you can guarantee that my next bullet will hit the mark.'

'Mary, I forbid you to kill Sherlock Holmes,' John said firmly.

'You forbid it?' Mary echoed.

'I forbid it,' John said, smiling slightly. He grimaced and took a deep breath which he allowed to slowly leave his lungs. 'This can be the one thing I evoke my husbandly command for. You don't get to kill him.' He grimaced again and groaned.

'It's OK,' Mary said. 'Just stay calm. I won't kill him.'

Sherlock frowned, and leaned to where John could see him.

'Just so I know, am I allowed to kill her?'

John guffawed and then groaned again. 'Please God tell me one of you has called an ambulance?'

'Lestrade's done it,' Sherlock said. He glanced to where Lestrade was standing a respectable distance away, letting the first aiders work.

'Thank God for Lestrade,' John whispered.

'He's a good man, Geoff.'

'It's Greg! Greg you incompetent arsehole,' John yelled, then he hissed in pain.

Sherlock glanced at Mary. She'd sat back on her heels and had reduced the amount of pressure on the cardigan. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing out as slowly and calmly as John had done.

Sherlock choked on the immediate question and took over with the pressure on the wound.

'Mary?' John whispered. 'Oh God, no.'

'No,' Mary said, smiling at him. 'I don't think so. Just a bad kick, that's all.'

'Oh thank goodness,' John muttered.

Sherlock was less certain though. Mary glanced at him once with steely eyes, and he took from the look the instruction that he was to deduce absolutely nothing about her in front of John.

He focussed on keeping pressure on the wound.

'Ambulance is two minutes away,' Lestrade called, looking at his watch.

'More good news,' John muttered. 'This day hasn't turned out so badly after all.'

'You've just been shot, John,' Sherlock said.

'Yeah, but it's all relative.'

Mary smiled at him and squeezed his hand. Without touching her, Sherlock checked her pulse, the tension in her lips and back, the dilation of her pupils and the strength of her smile. Internally, he discovered he was a gibbering wreck. He pushed down on the wound.

The ambulance blared around the corner and he breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

The crew swarmed around John with a competent buzz, and Sherlock sat back to let them work. He noted that Mary hadn't moved so far back and her eyes were closed and she was still and quiet. He watched her nervously, uncertain of what to do and not courageous enough to just ask her. He lingered close by until her eyes snapped open again, and she focussed on John. He was less awake now, though his eyes were still open. He looked distant and groggy.

'Is he ready to go?' she asked.

'He is. Who's coming in the van?'

'I am,' she replied firmly.

'Yes!' Sherlock gibbered. 'Yes, you should definitely get into the ambulance now! That's what you should do! You in the ambulance. Yes! God yes.'

She smiled. 'Thanks for that, Sherlock.'

She put her hands to the floor to lever herself up, and Sherlock hurried to help her using an instinct he didn't know he had.

'Are you OK?' he asked quietly.

'Yes. Are you?' she grinned.

'I mean it. What's happening?'

'I don't know. The first one felt like a contraction, but it could easily be triggered by the panic and there won't be another or…'

'Or you're in labour.'

'But that's unlikely.'

'Of course it is. You have nearly three weeks to go yet.'

'Which technically makes me full term.' She closed her eyes again and leaned against Sherlock's arm, squeezing it with her hands. He waited until it was finished.

'You can't go into labour now! John's just been shot!' he whispered at her, frantically. 'So you'll just have to stop it.'

'Yes, Sherlock, that's precisely how it works!' She took a breath and calmed down slightly. 'Anyhow, let's assume I'm not. Even if it's the early stages, birth could be days away. Could be up to a week. Now, let me go, they'll need to get John off.'

'You're holding on to me.'

'Oh yes.' She released him. 'I'll meet you at the hospital, OK?'

He nodded and watched as she walked slowly to the ambulance and pulled herself up the steps and disappeared from view.

'You OK?' Lestrade said, beside him.

'Me? Yes! Of course! Everything's just perfect!'

'OK.' Lestrade thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. 'Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?'

'Yes.'

oOo

Sherlock marched through the A&E ward looking like a madman. He poked his head through doors and around curtains not even noticing the angry shouts and calls behind him. He found Mary and John inside a reasonably large treatment room. Mary was standing quietly in the corner looking surprisingly worried and small, and John was on the table with doctors and nurses around him. One of them looked up angrily when he came in.

'You can't be in here!' he shouted.

'He's my best friend!' Sherlock shouted back.

'I don't ruddy care!'

'It's OK, Sherlock,' Mary said, stepping towards him to usher him out the door. 'I'll wait with you.'

They went into the corridor.

'What's happening to him?' Sherlock asked.

'They're just getting him ready for surgery.'

'Have they moved the bullet?'

'Not here.'

'How was he in the ambulance?'

'Unconscious, but not dead.'

Sherlock properly assessed her now. She was looking pale and tired and withdrawn, and suddenly her face closed again and she breathed slowly.

'They haven't stopped,' Sherlock said, not even sure if this was a statement or a question.

'Nope,' Mary said tightly.

'What do I do?' Sherlock asked.

'Hope that they stop!'

Sherlock shut up and just stood there, watching. Mary's eyes opened again.

'The good news is that they're erratic and short.'

'…OK.'

'Which means that it's not established labour,' she clarified. 'They could still stop at any moment. Sherlock could you do me a favour? Could you find some water?'

'Hot or cold?'

She smiled. 'Cold. Why would I need hot water?'

'I don't know. I seem to have a vague recollection of people boiling water and finding towels.'

She laughed, and relief shone through her face. 'Not in this day and age. I just need a drink. Please.'

'Of course. I'll find one.'

It didn't take long for him to track down a water cooler, and he brought two plastic cups full back to Mary. She was watching through the window in the treatment room door when he got back.

'They're going to find a surgery now,' she said, taking the water. 'Thank you.'

'I got you two, just in case. They're small cups.'

She grinned. 'Sometimes you really try, don't you?'

'Sometimes.' He glanced through at John. 'Is the prognosis good?'

'Very good. He won't even be in surgery long. Probably only an hour or two and then recovery. Nothing major's been hit, and I'm sure that he'll pull through.'

'Good.'

'You're wondering if the baby will come before he wakes up, aren't you? It won't.'

'You're sure?'

'Absolutely. Short contractions, not yet too painful, not in an established pattern. We've got ages yet.'

'Maybe a week?'

'Maybe.' The look on her face didn't give him much confidence.

The door opened and porters pulled John's bed out of it. Sherlock looked down at him. He was pale and still and didn't really look like himself at all. His hand went up, as if he needed to touch him, just to be sure, but he stopped it before he did. Mary noticed though, and she took hold of the hand and gave it a little squeeze.

'He'll be OK,' she said.

'OK.'

'Let's face it, he has to be. He's hardly going to shuffle off the mortal coil leaving me and you alone with his child, is he? He'll not to that to her.'

She smiled tightly.

The doctor told them to wait somewhere, but that they had around an hour if they wanted to walk somewhere or to get something eat. He confirmed he had Mary's phone number just in case. Then they were gone, removing John. Taking him away. Sherlock stared after them.

Mary squeezed his hand again.

'Come on; let's go for a walk.'

'A walk?'

'Yes. I don't want to sit down.'

'Are you sure?'

'Definitely. Getting up again is far too much trouble and there's not a chair or bed in the world that's comfortable enough right now. Let's walk.'

Sherlock followed her through the ward and out into the fresh air. She stood sill for a second, eyes closed, but not in pain this time. This time she just looked up at the sun and let it refresh her.

'You seem very calm,' he said.

'Mm. It's the hormones.' She smiled slightly. 'You should try it some time.'

'Being in labour?'

'Yeah. Let's walk.'

They walked along the two busy London streets. Sherlock found he was growing more agitated with each step they took away from the hospital. Mary was walking so slowly too. She wasn't rushing or pacing. She was just slowly walking in calm, even steps along the pavement.

She didn't seem to be having any further contractions though, which he decided was a blessing.

They rounded the corner and walked down to a small park in a square between roads. Mary went inside and continued her slow, steady walk around the paths. Sherlock followed, feeling fit to explode.

Why don't you jog?' Mary asked.

'Jog?'

'I can't move any faster right now, and you need to. Why don't you go for a little run around the paths.'

'I'm not running!'

'Why not?'

'It's ridiculous.'

'Maybe you can pretend you're chasing a suspect.'

'I can do no such thing.'

'OK, well how about you storm off in a huff then.'

'I don't do that!'

'Oh, no, you're calm and collected always. You never shout and strop like a little child at all.'

'I don't!'

'Go on. Walk it out.'

'Stop trying to manage me!' he snapped, and he stormed off in a huff.

He'd made it half way around the park before he noticed what had happened, and he allowed himself to feel annoyed. That made him stamp and stomp even more, which did actually make him feel a little better. He stamped and stomped and fretted and imagined John on the surgery table, cut open. That image made him shudder, so he banished it. He prowled for a while, just by way of a change, and finally he felt a little better. He was still anxious, but within normal levels. He turned to look at where Mary was, half way across the square, and the panic rose right back into his throat again.

Mary had stopped. She was holding on to the back of a bench, gripping it tightly, leaned slightly and breathing hard.


	3. Chapter 3

**Just a quick note to say thank you for the reviews! I love to be able to come back to people personally, but if you haven't logged in (or have PMs switched off) thank you too! Pip xxx**

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'Shit,' Sherlock muttered, and he sprinted the distance across to her.

'Mary?'

'Shut up, Sherlock!' she snapped.

He did shut up. She breathed slowly, blowing the breath out between her lips. Suddenly this wasn't enough, and she moaned quietly.

'Mary?' he whispered, hoping he wouldn't be heard.

This time it seemed to take longer for the pain to die away. As it did so, she straightened up and looked at Sherlock. It was an extremely pissed off look.

'I'll take you to the hospital,' he said.

'I can't go to the hospital,' she replied. 'They won't want me yet.'

'But you're in labour!'

'I'm in really early labour!' She sagged. 'I need to sit down.'

Sherlock steered her with a hand on her arm until she was sitting on the bench.

'Oh, God,' she said.

'I can't oblige you there,' Sherlock said.

'This is your fault!' Mary shouted, angry tears in her eyes.

'My fault?'

'If you hadn't let John get shot, I'd be with him, and not with the least capable birthing partner in the history of mankind! Also, I probably wouldn't have been panicked into labour!'

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock muttered.

Mary sighed. 'It's OK. It's not your fault really.'

'I certainly didn't get you pregnant.'

She laughed, and though the mood swing concerned him, he relaxed slightly.

'I really think I should take you to hospital. That's clearly where you should be.'

'No.' Mary took a deep breath. 'Right, listen up, because I need to get you up to speed very fast. The good thing is that the baby is in an optimal position and my blood pressure is fine. It's going to be a straight forward birth, all things being equal.'

'That's good.'

'It is. There are several stages of labour. Stage one is the longest usually, and divided into two parts; early and active. I'm in early. The womb is getting into position. The cervix is getting ready for action. At some point soon, I can expect my mucus plug to go.'

'What's that?'

'It's a bung of mucus in the opening of the cervix.' She raised her eyebrows at Sherlock's horrified face. 'It might be better if you got over any squeamishness right now, because this is likely to get very messy in a lot of areas, OK?'

He nodded.

'We both have to come to terms with the fact that I'm likely to shit in front of you.'

'Consider me prepared,' Sherlock whispered, hoping his face at least _looked_ calm.

Her eyebrow jerked up, and he suspected he hadn't been successful. She went on though.

'The cervix isn't getting up to much yet. It's all just tensing and relaxing and softening.'

'So it's not painful?'

'Of course it's painful, you moron!'

'Sorry.'

'It's going to get worse though. That's the rub of it.' She sighed. 'Right, so this is where we are; early stage one. Later in stage one, I'll be in active labour, will mean the contractions are coming regularly. They'll be more painful, and they should come in waves of three. A short one, a long one, then a short one. The middle one will hurt most. Then I'll get a breather before the next three happen.'

'OK. A rest sounds good.'

'It's a life saver, I'm hoping anyway. Oh hell.'

Mary's hand shot out and she gripped Sherlock's wrist. She went still and quiet again, and the breathing started slow and calm again. She whimpered slightly.

'Help me up,' she muttered.

'Up?'

'Yes, up! Up, man! Do it now!'

Sherlock shot up automatically and while he let her lean on him and pull herself up, he reflected how very like John she could be. He wondered what a child might be, that was half of John and half of her. He discovered he was actually quite eager to find out.

He stood and watched as she gripped the back of the chair again, bending slightly, and now rocking gently backwards and forwards. She blew her breath out slowly, but didn't moan this time. She just rocked and blew while Sherlock watched. Finally she straightened up.

'How long was that?' she asked

'What?'

'How long between contractions?'

Sherlock stared blankly. She shook her head.

'OK, your current job is to time how long it takes between contractions, and then time the length of them. OK?'

'Yes.'

She stared. 'Well? Check your watch then!'

'I'm counting! It's more accurate!'

She shook her head with a smile and sank onto the chair again. 'Right, so we've covered stage one. What happens next is transition.'

'Stage one, then transition. Got it.'

'Really?'

'Yes.' He nodded firmly. 'What's transition?'

'Transition is the bit that links stage one and two. In stage two, my womb is already open and the contractions stop being about opening and start being about pushing.'

'OK. Wait, what's transition.'

'Transition is, from what I can tell, about half a minute where I want to give up, sod off, let someone else take over, and generally fall down in self-pitying despair.'

His eyes bulged. 'You don't already?'

She laughed. 'Not like I will then. But it's over quickly, and then it's down to pushing.'

'Stage two.'

'Yes. Stage two is hard work, obviously, but if the first stage hasn't gone on too long, I should be physically capable of it.'

'Oh.'

'What?'

'I'd secretly been hoping stage one might last a few days. But I suppose not if it's going to make the later bits more complicated.'

She grinned. 'Thank you. Though if this early, it still might stop and I can gear myself up properly. I'm not ready.'

Her eyes welled and she swiped tears away. Sherlock felt hopeless.

'Sorry,' she said. 'It's hormones.'

'It's fine. And then what? The baby's born?'

'Yes, then the baby comes out, everybody's happy, lots of smiles, cuddles and congratulations and cigars all round.'

'I doubt you'll be allowed to smoke.'

'Kidding, Sherlock.'

'So that's done.'

'Apart from stage three, which is delivering the placenta, which should be straightforward after all of that.' She sighed.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock said.

'For what?'

He shrugged. 'Mostly I'm sorry that John isn't here with you.'

'That's not your fault. Should we go back to the hospital? Is it nearly time?'

Sherlock checked his watch. 'It's only been forty five minutes.'

She nodded. 'Let's do one more circuit, and then head back.'

'Is that a good idea?'

'It's a very good idea. When I'm walking, the baby's head is pressing down on the cervix and doing some of the work.'

'So there really is no way of stopping and waiting for John?'

'No, none at all. But he wouldn't want me moping around like a silly girl, would he. He'd say the most important thing is to make sure me and the baby are safe and well, and to get on with what I need to do without pining after him.'

Sherlock smiled. 'Yes. He would say that. And he'd probably tell me to stop acting like a god-damned fool, man up, and do what you need me to do.'

'Yep.'

'And then he'll never forgive me for seeing his baby before he did.'

'Yep.' Mary squeezed his arm. 'But he'd kill you for letting me down. And you could always just shut your eyes.'

'Oh I have no doubt that my eyes will be shut for large amounts of it.'

She grinned. 'Come on. Let's walk.'

They walked slowly around the park, with Mary leaning on Sherlock's arm, but there were no further contractions. Sherlock found himself growing more confident until she had to stop and lean against him outside a computer shop, rocking and breathing slowly. He waited as patiently as he was able.

'Twelve minutes apart and twenty two seconds long,' he said.

'Good,' she said, panting and calculating. 'That's good. We're still well in stage one, and the longer that lasts, the greater chance we have of John waking up so he at least knows what's happening.'

'Yes. I'd prefer to ask his permission.'

'His permission?' she said, amused. 'It's my vagina.'

Sherlock blushed deeply, and she laughed.

'Really? You of all people have a problem with the word vagina?'

'It's not the word. It's more that the specific vagina in question. I'd prefer not to…' he blushed again and broke off.

'Would it help if I were to imagine your willy?' she asked, mischief dancing around her eyes.

'No. It would not.'

'Shame. Come on; let's go.'

They made their slow way back to the hospital. A&E was as busy as it had been when they left, and Sherlock felt his impatience building as busy nurses bustled past them, studiously avoiding eye contact.

All of a sudden, Mary's hand shot out and caught a nurse by the wrist. He looked horribly young and embarrassed, and visibly shrank under Mary's glare.

'I am in labour and my husband has been shot!' she shouted. 'John Watson! He's in surgery now. I need you to find out what's happening with him, and tell me!'

'I'll find out now,' he quailed. He scurried off.

'Assassin, you say?' Sherlock said quietly.

She sniggered. 'Sometimes it's useful.'

'Yes.'

They waited another few minutes for the boy to come back to them.

'Hi, er, Mr… er Watson is still in surgery…'

'Why?' Mary shot out.

'They said there are no complications and they're just finishing up. They expect to have finished and be out of recovery in thirty to forty-five minutes.'

Mary nodded as she absorbed this. 'Right. Thank you.'

The nurse scurried again.

'Right,' Sherlock said, 'what do you want to do?'

'I need to find some food,' Mary said.

'Really?'

'Yes.' She took a couple of steps, and a strange look came over her face. 'Actually, no, I need to find a loo and…' She glanced at him. 'Sherlock, any chance you could find a shop, really quickly, and buy me some sanitary towels?'

'Some _what?_'

'Sanitary towels, Sherlock, I know you know what they are. Oh, shit…'

'What?'

'Everything I need is in the hospital bag at home!'

Sherlock stared. 'Could I get it?'

'It'll take you over an hour there and back at this time.'

'Yes. And would it be better to take that hour and get everything you need, or would it be better to find a shop and be back here in twenty minutes and make do with what I can find? It's up to you; I'll do either and can happily list all the pros and cons in both case.'

'You don't need to.' She frowned. 'Give me a minute.' He waited. 'Go. I think I'm OK for a bit. Go back to the flat. By the time you get back, John will hopefully be in a room and you can meet me there. I'll text details.'

Sherlock nodded once, then fled.

He flagged down the first cab he saw, pushing past a couple of tourists who were making a beeline for the same one. He didn't bother to apologise as he elbowed them out of the way and hopped inside, rattling off John and Mary's address. He sat back in the chair and scowled at the back of the driver's head as he manoeuvred as quickly as he was able through the busy streets.

Sherlock's phone started chirping in his pocket, and he scrambled for it, hoping it might be Mary telling him not to rush after all, and that everything was fine.

Instead Mycroft's face leered at him from the screen. He dismissed it. A few seconds later Mycroft tried again. They played this merry dance for another four calls, and on the sixth, Sherlock gave in and answered.

'What do you want? I'm busy!'

'You made quite a mess of the Simpson case, didn't you.'

'Shut up, Mycroft. It doesn't matter right now!'

'It doesn't matter?'

'No! It doesn't!'

'Sherlock, what's wrong?'

'If you're keeping such close tabs on me, you'll already know!'

There was an uncomfortable silence down the phone. 'Something's happened to John?' Mycroft ventured.

'You don't know?' Sherlock said.

'No. I heard from Simpson. He was particularly pleased with himself but he didn't say why. What's happened to John?'

'Simpson shot him.'

'I assume he'll live?'

'Yes! He'll live! Simpson had better damned well hope so anyway…'

'Do settle down, Sherlock.'

'John's in surgery, Mary's in labour, and I'm on my way to their place to get her bag. I really don't have time for you.'

'Mary's in labour?'

'Yes! Are you suddenly hard of hearing or something? Or just hard of thought?'

'Well when you've delivered the bag like a good little courier, I expect you to come to my office. Shall we say an hour?'

'No! We shan't! When I've delivered the bag I'll be staying with Mary!'

'But why?'

'BECAUSE JOHN'S BEEN SHOT!'

'I hardly see the relevance…'

'Mary's about to give birth!'

'Yes, but why on earth would she want you there? Surely it would be better to be alone that to be with, well, you?'

Sherlock was silenced. When he thought about it, there was every possibility that he'd cause more harm than good in a birthing room. The fact that this had escaped him annoyed him slightly. The fact that it was true annoyed him even more.

'Shut up, Mycroft!' he snapped.

'Good response, little brother.'

'I'm not!'

'I assure you that you are. I had my doubts, but mother is certain.'

'Well I don't care!' Sherlock shouted sulkily. 'I have people to be with who are significantly more important to me than you are, and I don't care that you don't like it! Sod off!'

He hung up. He replayed this last little speech back to himself and found he was strangely buoyed by it. Mycroft was jealous. He was surprised he hadn't realised until now. Mycroft was jealous of John, and he was jealous of Mary, and he was idiotic enough to be jealous of the baby too.

He steeled himself. It was true he might cause more harm than good, but he'd just have to work diligently and carefully to make sure that didn't happen.

He allowed himself a slow smile as they pulled up outside John's house, and asked the driver to wait for him. He darted up to the front door, unlocked it and went straight upstairs to the bedroom where, sure enough, there was a neat carryall at the foot of the bed on John's side. He didn't even need to look inside to know precisely what it was. He then did look inside, just to be sure, because he didn't want to delay everything with a second trip, he added Mary's toothbrush from the bathroom and her hairbrush from the dressing table and went downstairs. He rifled through the kitchen cupboards and packed everything that could be eaten as it was, and darted back out to the driver. He checked his watch and found that he'd spent precisely four minutes in the house. He nodded, satisfied with himself, and wondered how Mary was doing.


	4. Chapter 4

He found Mary exactly thirty two minutes later. He was annoyed that the cab had been delayed due to an argument between a cyclist and a delivery van, but hadn't joined in for fear of slowing everything down. He'd got a call while he was still waiting with just a ward name and room number, and that was it.

He did jog through some of the wider, quieter corridors to the ward, and fast walked those not suitable for running. He found the ward, and he was feeling mildly proud that he'd achieved his goal with not too much fuss and faff and only one shouted argument when he strode through the door and saw Mary.

Mary was crying.

'What is it? What's happened? Did you have the baby?' he said, wincing at the stupidity of the last one.

Mary laughed through her tears though.

'No, I'm fine,' she said, wiping her face. 'I just thought I'd have ten minutes to cry about it, and then I can get over it.'

'Ah. An equalising cry. I see.'

'What?'

'Sometimes I watch sad films so that I'll cry and resolve the chemical imbalance. I think it's probably connected to hormones.'

Mary stared.

'I take it that's not normal,' he said.

'No it is. But you're not usually.'

'Oh. I got your bag.'

'Thank you.' She started crying again.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He started rifling through mind cellars for the right thing to say.

'There there?' he said.

She laughed again, but still cried.

'Sorry. It's just that it's a bit miserable really, isn't it? Look at him. He's no clue what's going on, and he's been looking forward to it so much, and sometimes I think he's only with me because of the baby, and that's all I've got to give him, and now he's going to miss it! It's not fair!'

Sherlock looked at John, and found he was misting up too. He instantly shook this away and told himself sternly to get a grip.

'It's OK…' he started.

'How is it OK?' Mary wailed.

'I mean, it's not ideal, obviously, but John wouldn't want you to be upset on his behalf when you're about to meet your daughter. He'd want you to look forward to it, and to concentrate and all of that noble stuff that he chooses to do. And yes, while he'll be upset if he misses the birth, he'll know that he's got a whole lifetime with his daughter. I understand they hang around for at least eighteen years.'

Mary laughed again.

'Oh come here,' she said.

Sherlock stepped tentatively towards him and she hugged him. He patted her back very gently, for fear of accidentally tapping the baby right out.

'It's OK,' she said. 'I won't break.'

'No. Hopefully not. Have there been further contractions?'

'Yeah, a couple.'

'How many? Did you time them?'

'No, I didn't bother. There were no more than three.'

'Mary! You told me it was important to time them. You should at least know how many there were!'

She laughed again. 'I know enough to know we're still in stage one. I actually thought they were tailing off a bit, but then my mucus plug went about half an hour ago, so if it's all the same to you, I'm going to change into clean knickers.'

She smiled again at the look on his face.

'Seriously, Sherlock, it's probably time you get used to all the bodily fluids.'

Sherlock filed and calculated.

'Did you save it?' he asked.

'What?'

'Your mucus plug. It occurs to me I've never seen one and it might make an interesting study.'

Mary blinked. 'Right. Now I need you to dial back slightly, and find a nice middle ground between horrified disgust, and clinical coldness.'

He nodded. 'I'll try.'

'Right. The bag.'

He heaved it onto a chair where she could reach it, and let her take over. He wandered over to John's bed while Mary disappeared into the little bathroom.

John was sleeping quite soundly. He wasn't as complicated with tubes and monitors as Sherlock had feared. There were the usual ones, and a measured morphine supply, but that was all. He didn't even have a catheter. Sherlock felt some of the tension ease from the pit of his stomach. It really did look as though John was going to be OK. He could focus exclusively on Mary.

While John was still sleeping, Sherlock put a hand into his hair and rested it there.

'Did he wake up?' Mary asked from behind him.

He jumped back.

'No, he's… fine,' Sherlock said.

There was a peculiar look on Mary's face now, as if she'd tasted something that she didn't quite like.

'Sorry,' Sherlock said, embarrassed.

'It's fine,' she said, forcing a smile. 'Hopefully he'll wake up before long.'

'Yes.'

'Oo, here we go again,' she said, pulling a face.

She gripped the end of the bed and leaned and rocked and breathed. Sherlock went through his pockets for his Moleskine and a pen and made a note of the time. He watched and waited until the contraction was over and he wrote the duration down.

'I'm going to make notes,' he said.

'What?'

'Of all the contractions. That way John will know precisely what he missed. And you too; you might find it interesting to look back on afterwards.'

'OK then.'

Sherlock looked up and frowned. 'Not normal?'

'You know what? It's a hell of a lot more normal than videoing it.'

'Oh, now there's an idea! I'll get it all on my phone and then…'

'You'll do no such thing.'

'But John…'

'Will cope with your notes of figures. I am not having any kind of recording devise anywhere near to my nether regions, thank you!'

'But surely…'

'No. Absolutely not. John knows my feelings on this, and he's behind me all the way. He'll manage.'

'OK.'

'Oops, here comes another one…'

Again she hung to the end of the bed and blew and blew. Sherlock counted.

'That was only seven seconds!' he said.

'Just time them, Sherlock,' she replied. 'Try not to judge at the same time.'

'M'shnk,' John murmured.

Both of the others went to linger at his bedside. Sherlock glanced across at Mary, wondering if she too was trying to work out if he was aiming for a 'Mary' or a 'Sherlock'. She was positioned slightly closer, and she stroked his hair quietly.

'John? You OK there?' she said quietly.

John's eyes flickered open, but then closed again and he went back to sleep for a full five minutes.

'I think he's off again,' Mary said eventually. 'Oh, but I'm on. Damn.'

More rocking and breathing and holding onto the end of the bed. Her breaths were interspersed with tiny, quiet whimpers this time.

'Can I get you anything?' Sherlock asked.

'No, I'm fine,' she said tightly.

She blew some more, and the contraction left her.

'That one was thirty two seconds,' Sherlock said.

'Shit.'

They both turned sharply. There was John, wide awake and watching Mary with a look of pure frustration on his face.

'It's fine, John,' Mary said.

'You're in labour!'

'Yes, but still only stage one,' Sherlock said. 'And not active labour yet.'

John frowned at him. 'When did you research this?'

'Mary told me.'

'Mary?'

'Of course I did. You were in surgery and he was panicking, and he's better with information. And he's right; we're really early.'

'How far apart are the contractions?' John asked Sherlock.

'I haven't timed enough for a true average…'

'Sherlock!' John snapped.

'Approximately seven to ten minutes. The last two were nearer seven.'

John grunted and closed his eyes. Mary and Sherlock stole a glance at each other.

'Are you OK?' Mary ventured.

'No! I'm bloody not!' John said. 'This is possibly the worst timing of anything in the world!'

'We all agree it's far from ideal,' Sherlock said.

Mary nodded.

'OK,' John said. 'OK, give me three minutes to adjust to all of this.'

The others nodded and stayed silent. John stayed silent too, occasionally interspersing his silence with looks at Mary (pity and frustration) and Sherlock (like death was too good an option for him). At one point Mary got one of the cross looks, but Sherlock assumed this was because John was tired and groggy.

'OK,' he said. 'Right.'

'I really am sorry, John,' Mary said.

'I know, I know, but it can't be helped now.' He smiled softly at her. 'What's your preferred plan at this point?'

'I can probably manage alone,' she said quietly.

'I don't want you to be alone.'

'I don't want to be alone,' she whispered.

'Then let's rule out alone.'

'The thing is,' she said, 'if we have to substitute for you, then I think Sherlock's the best bet.'

'Are you sure? You have friends who'd come.'

'Yes, but you have Sherlock.' She smiled. 'Your right hand man.'

'What?' Sherlock said, his head bobbing up. 'I'm _his_ right hand man? Me?'

But Mary and John only had eyes for each other. John put out his hand and Mary took it. He smiled at her.

'OK, well let's go with that. He will protect you better than anyone else I know, and I trust him more than anyone else in the world. So let's go with him. You promise me that if he makes you uncomfortable at any moment, any time at all, you'll send him away and get someone else. Even if it's just a midwife.'

Mary nodded.

'Everyone's assuming I'm comfortable with it,' Sherlock muttered.

'You'll do as you're damn well told,' John said. 'I swear, Sherlock, if you fuck this up, I will flay you.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Understood.'

'Good.' John sighed. 'Now, do you think you could wait outside for a bit?'

Sherlock was startled. He glanced at Mary who was still looking at John.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes,' John replied. 'I want the privilege of being alone with my labouring wife for just a tiny amount of time. If this is all that we're going to get, then I'll take it.'

Sherlock nodded.

'Don't go far,' Mary said as he left.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock ended up leaning against the wall in the corridor, and he pulled his phone from his pocket to start researching on the birthing process. There was a poster opposite him suggesting he might like to have his phone turned off, but as he'd forgotten to do so on getting to the hospital and it hadn't caused John any bother, he ignored it.

Less than three minutes later, the door opened again, and Mary stuck her head out.

'Could you come back in?' she asked.

'Already?'

'Yes. We were doing fine until himself noticed I was in pain and moved to help, and now he's wrenched his stitches.'

Sherlock pushed past her to John.

'Are you OK? What happened? What did you do?'

John looked tiredly bemused. 'I'm fine. See to Mary.'

'I'm fine too,' Mary said. 'Let me check your stitches.'

Sherlock stood back and let her work. Mary the nurse. John suffered her attention reasonably well for him, and they were soon satisfied that he hadn't caused any damage.

'Have you eaten recently?' John asked.

'No, I've been sort of preoccupied.'

'Oh! I brought food!' Sherlock unpacked the carrier bag onto the bed-table. There were two packets of biscuits, one sweet, one cheese, a hand of bananas and seven apples. 'I didn't have much time,' he said.

'Well, it might not be Michelin star stuff, but it's food,' Mary said. She wolfed a banana. She chased it down with a couple of cheese biscuits and started on a second banana. 'Actually, forget what I said about Michelin stars; this is inspired catering.'

'Go steady,' John said, smiling as he watched her.

'I could do with more water,' she said.

'I'll get some,' Sherlock said.

'No, wait,' Mary said, screwing her face up again. 'Oo, this hurts. No, don't move,' she said, looking anxiously at John. 'It's fine, it's just… Oooo.'

'Don't talk to me,' John said. 'Blow out. Blow downwards.'

She nodded and obeyed.

'OK?' John asked.

She nodded and blew. 'Oh hell,' she muttered and staggered through to the bathroom to vomit.

'Mary?' John called.

Sherlock glanced at him, then went into the bathroom too. Mary was squatting by the toilet, thankfully no longer being sick, but crumpled in pain.

'Oh God,' she muttered.

'Blow down,' Sherlock said.

'I am blowing down!' she shouted.

'No, you're shouting at me. Blow down. Come on.'

Mary blew out slowly.

'Good,' Sherlock said. 'And again.'

She nodded and blew. She swayed slightly and Sherlock gripped one shoulder and rubbed the top of her back with his other hand. Mary blew again.

'I think it's going,' she said eventually.

He stood back instantly.

'Are you two OK in there?' John called.

'We're fine,' Sherlock called.

'I was more interested in Mary, to be honest.'

'I'm fine,' she called. 'I'm coming back now.'

Sherlock helped her up and she stopped to wash her hands. Sherlock left her to it to go back to John.

'I think she's fine,' he said.

John nodded. 'This might be a good time to go and get a couple of bottles of water. I think there's a shop downstairs.'

'Are you sure you'll be OK?'

'No. It'll be torture watching her, so go quickly.'

Sherlock nodded and fled. He found the shop well stocked and gathered water, lemonade, coke, boiled sweets and extra strong mints. He stood in the queue behind an elderly couple who were discussing the merits of milk chocolate over dark chocolate digestives at the till.

'The dark ones are better,' he growled at them.

'You see?' the woman said.

He gave them a wide smile. 'Look, I really don't want to be responsible for tearing your arms from your torso, but my best friend's wife is in labour, and I need to get these things to her in the next three minutes, so if you'd perhaps buy all the biscuits and leave, that would be marvellous.' He smiled again, just in case he hadn't been taken seriously.

The man put a ten pound note on the counter, and the woman on the till bagged their goods rapidly and they turned to leave.

'Good luck for your friend, dear,' the woman said.

'Thank you, but if you could just get out of the way!'

Sherlock glared at the check-out worker and his choices were bagged rapidly. He jabbed his PIN into the little machine, and not a word was said over the transaction. As soon as the machine beeped its confirmation, he grabbed his shopping and card and stormed out.

Mary was mid contraction when he returned. She'd moved to stand close to John and he was rubbing her arm while she gripped onto handfuls of his blanket.

'You're doing brilliantly,' he murmured.

She whimpered as she breathed.

'What's happening? Why isn't it stopping?' Sherlock asked.

'It's fine,' John said, still stroking Mary's arms. 'They're just getting a bit more business-like.'

Mary blew. Every muscle in her body seemed to be tensed against the pain. Finally she started relaxing.

'All right?' John said softly.

She nodded.

'Do you want to go up now and get some pain relief sorted?'

'No.' She smiled as she wiped her face. 'No, I think they've just ramped up, and I need to work out how to deal with them again.'

'Don't be a hero,' he said. 'The stuff is there for you to use.'

She shook her head. 'I don't want it yet. I think I want to keep my head clear for as long as I'm able. I just need to focus, and work out how to do it.'

'OK.' John rubbed her arm again.

'I've got you some water,' Sherlock said, tipping the bag out onto John's bed. 'Also sweets to suck. I didn't know if they'd help, but I thought your blood sugar might need attention.'

'Not a bad idea,' John said, looking slightly impressed.

Sherlock quietly basked in the praise while Mary gulped down some of the water.

'Mints,' Mary said. 'That's genius. Thank you.'

'It's fine. What else do you need me to do? I'm surprisingly good at taking instruction if I put my mind to it. Which I will do.'

Mary smiled. 'Thank you. What I could really do with, if it's OK, is a back massage.'

'Er…' Sherlock glanced at John, who shrugged.

'It doesn't need to be technical,' Mary said. 'Just my muscles feel like hell, and it helped when you rubbed my back before. I think it's distracting mostly, but right now, a distraction's a relief.'

'OK.'

Sherlock felt John's eyes on him as he walked around the bed to behind Mary. Mary stayed at John's head, still holding his hand, and Sherlock forced his face to go completely wooden as he gently rubbed the top of Mary's back.

'Yeah, you might want to actually make contact with me,' Mary said.

'I am!' He rubbed a little harder nonetheless, and Mary sighed and her head drooped.

They stood silently, Sherlock rubbing Mary's back, John and Mary holding hands, occasionally exchanging stolen, quiet glances. Sherlock held his gaze on the corner of the door and rubbed.

'Here's another one,' Mary said.

Sherlock stood back.

'Don't stop now!' she said. 'Lower… no, lower. The small of my back, and hard.'

Sherlock drove his thumbs into the small of Mary's back. She breathed slowly and deeply, but she wasn't moaning or whimpering now. He risked a glance at John's face, who was calmly watching Mary, not talking or bothering her. He silently counted until sixty-two before she looked up and breathed out again.

'They're a minute long now,' he said.

'Yep. And three minutes apart,' John said. 'I think we're in active labour. I think we have been for a while, but Mary's been covering it.'

Mary nodded, but didn't add anything.

'We can't be,' Sherlock said. 'Mary said they'd be waves of three, and they aren't.'

'It was more of a guideline, Sherlock,' Mary said tiredly.

'Do you think you should go upstairs now?' John asked.

'No. I can go a bit longer here.'

'OK then,' John said.

'Is that wise?' Sherlock asked. 'What about this transition thing. From what you've said, we might not have much time between stage one and two.'

She shook her head again and drank some water. 'No. I don't want to get up there to be told I'm only four centimetres dilated or something. I'd prefer to be here as long as possible.'

'What about the pain?' John asked.

'I can cope with Sherlock's massage if it doesn't get much worse than the last one.' She smiled. 'What about your pain? How are you? You've just been shot remember.'

'I'm fine,' he said. 'I'd honestly forgotten all about it. Hey, maybe this will be the next forefront of pain reduction. Don't do drugs; just have a labouring woman in your room. Put's stuff into perspective that does.' He grinned.

'Also, you've got a morphine drip,' Sherlock said.

They all looked at the machine. Sherlock frowned.

'Actually, surely between the pair of you, one of you could attach Mary to that…'

'No,' the other two chorused.

'I was just raising the suggestion,' he said quietly.

'OK, here we go,' Mary said.

Sherlock got back into position as she gripped the bedclothes again. This time, it didn't seem so peculiar that he was manhandling John's wife. He was just doing as instructed and he massaged his thumbs hard into Mary's back. He stayed silent and kept going until she straightened up and rubbed at her own neck.

'You OK?' John asked.

She nodded.

The next few hours fell into a quiet pattern of Mary drinking when she was able, and Sherlock massaging her when she wasn't. John was getting better at staying still and just watching, though his nurse, when she came to check on him, was slightly surprised by the situation.

Time went on, both men listening to quiet messages from Mary. Eventually, at about eight o'clock, Mary suddenly squatted mid contraction, still holding onto the bars of the bed.

'Oh holy hell,' she muttered.

'Don't push!' John sat up quickly and howled. 'Jesus! Don't push, Mary! Sherlock, get her up! Get her up!'

Sherlock hooked his hands under Mary's arms and yanked her up from the floor. She repositioned her hands and leaned against the bed as before, holding her breath, then panting quickly. She cried and moaned as John held her hand and Sherlock her shoulder.

The moment passed. She went quiet, just looking down at the bed.

'You need to go up now,' John said.

She nodded and wept.

'It's better that you're in a delivery room,' he said.

She nodded again. 'I don't want to leave you,' she whispered through her tears.

'I know, but you have to, OK? Mary, listen; Sherlock's going to take you upstairs now. You'll be fine with him, and you'll be where you and the baby need you to be. So go upstairs now.'

She nodded.

'I love you, OK?' he said, squeezing her hands.

'I love you to,' she whispered.

'Good. Now go and have my baby, OK?'

She sobbed, but nodded.

Sherlock stood back, just watching all of this. He quietly gathered the hospital bag and Mary's jacket.

Mary stood up straight and nodded once at him, then made her way slowly to the door.

Sherlock went to John, feeling he ought to say something, but once again, he wasn't sure what that thing should be.

'Please look after her,' John said quietly.

He nodded.

'Don't mess this up,' John said.

'No,' Sherlock said, feeling a small wave of panic gathering strength within him.

John squeezed his free hand. 'You'll be fine. Just listen to her, and listen to the midwife. You can do this.'

Sherlock nodded again.

Mary had stopped in the hallway, so he let go of John's hand and went to her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Just a note to say, once again, thank you for your tremendously kind reviews. I'm feeling a bit rubbish today, both physically and mentally, so it's been really nice to read them.**

**Pip xxx**

* * *

They made their slow way to the elevator and listened to the sound of its inner workings groan and grind as they were transported up two floors. Mary managed the short distance fine, but then they were halted outside the antenatal ward and needed to wait to be buzzed in, while a midwife on the desk quizzed them about why they hadn't rung in advance to let them know they were coming. Sherlock watched as Mary slowly unravelled, and he wondered if it would be acceptable to break down the door.

'Please,' Mary squealed into the microphone. 'The contractions are less than two minutes apart, and they're really hurting! Please let me in!'

The buzzer sounded and the lock clicked free. The midwife met them in the corridor, and despite her previous manner, she looked at Mary with an air of competence and concern.

'Alright, I've got a room for you.'

'Thank you,' Mary said.

'Come along then. You OK with the bags, Dad?'

'I'm not…' he started, but Mary grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and he stopped again.

They were led into a calm little room with rabbits stencilled on the walls. There was a normal looking bed, a huge ball that looked like the precursor to a space-hopper, and a door to the bathroom.

'Is this it?' Sherlock asked.

'There are rooms with pools, but I'm afraid they're both taken.'

'This is fine, thank you,' Mary said.

'There's a gown on the bed there, I'll leave you to get changed, and I'll be back in five minutes.'

'Thank you,' Mary said again.

The midwife smiled and left them.

Sherlock put the bag down on the chair in the corner and shagged his coat and jacket on top of it. Mary picked up the gown. Sherlock turned around and faced the wall, rolling his sleeves up for no other reason than it made it seem as though he might be ready for all of this.

'Seems a bit silly,' Mary commented, 'you looking away, given what's about to happen.'

'I'm still not going to look while you get changed.'

'No. Thank you.' She moaned. 'Actually, sod it, come and help.'

He turned to find her grabbing hold of the new bed, her top off though her bra still on.

'What do you need?' he asked. 'More massage?'

'Mm.' She breathed slowly. Sherlock massaged her bare skin, hoping that he'd adjust to this new situation before long.

The contraction passed and she breathed out again.

'You know what?' Mary said. 'That one didn't seem as bad as the ones downstairs.'

'That's good.'

'I hope so. I hope it doesn't mean I've actually got another six hours of this when I thought I was nearly there.'

'No. Here, let me help with the gown.' He held it open for her while she slipped out of her bra and trousers, and he tied it at the back.

'Well, that makes it real then,' she commented.

'Yes. I was hoping for it to start feeling real soon.'

She laughed, then grimaced as the next contraction came. It seemed remarkably short, and Sherlock was about to comment that maybe they'd been wrong all along, but then the next one hit, and she groaned as it took her. It was finally over, but was followed by another which passed almost without notice.

Mary stood up and breathed normally.

'Waves of three!' Sherlock said, delighted.

'Yeah. Great.'

'We must be nearly there!'

'Let's hope so.'

The door opened and another midwife came in.

'Hello there,' she said, smiling broadly. 'My name's Comfort, and I'm going to be with you for the next few hours.'

'What happened to the other?' Mary asked, not rudely, but curious.

'She's covering the desk and has two others, whereas I've just delivered two doors down. I can be with you throughout, all being equal.'

Sherlock had a more pressing question.

'Your name's _Comfort?_'

She laughed. 'My mother's quite old-school and old-country with names. It's apt though, innit?'

'I honestly don't care what you're called,' Mary said, grasping her hand. 'Just don't leave me alone.'

Comfort laughed. 'How are you doing with pain?'

'She's in a lot of pain,' Sherlock answered.

'But I actually think I'm managing it quite well,' Mary added.

'Do you want gas and air, or should we leave you for a bit?'

'Take the pain relief,' Sherlock said quietly.

'All right. Set me up,' Mary said.

Comfort unwrapped a mouthpiece from its sterile packet and popped it onto the hose.

'Here you go. When you feel a contraction come, you just breathe with it.'

Mary nodded. 'Here we go,' she muttered. She put the mouthpiece into her mouth and took a large breath. Immediately she pulled it out of her mouth again, choking. 'That's awful,' she muttered.

'It might take getting used to,' Comfort said.

Mary tried again. This time she didn't choke, but she grimaced.

'Nope; it's making me nauseous. I don't want it. I want a clear head.'

'Fair enough,' Comfort said, removing the pipe. 'Are you sick?'

Mary nodded, and Comfort held a bowl for her while she vomited. The bowl was thrown away, and Comfort rubbed Mary's back, radiating calm and competence. Sherlock watched, feeling slightly horrified and completely out of his depth.

'Do you want to take over here, Dad?' she asked, beaming at Sherlock.

'Not really,' Sherlock replied before he could stop himself.

'You'll be fine,' Mary said, smiling through the pain.

He approached gingerly and pulled the opening of the gown more closed before he started his massage. Mary sighed and gripped the bed until the contraction went.

'OK now,' Comfort said, 'I'd quite like to give you a quick examination if that's OK. It'd be easiest if you got on the bed for it, but you can get off again after if you'd prefer to stand.'

Mary started pulling herself onto the bed, and Sherlock surprised himself again by helping her. They got her into position, and she opened her legs.

Sherlock was instantly shocked, before realising that there really was no other way of doing this. He positioned himself well behind Mary's head.

'I'll have to take your pants off,' Comfort said.

'They'll have to come off sooner or later,' Mary said.

Sherlock looked away again as the item was removed. He stared intently out of the window until Comfort had finished.

'Right, you're seven centimetres,' she said.

'Only seven!' Mary wailed.

'Seven is good! Seven to ten will go really quickly, but you need to make sure you don't start pushing yet.'

'I really wanted to when I squatted downstairs.'

'Well hold off for now,' she said again.

'Here comes another one,' she groaned.

'What do you need me to do?' Sherlock asked stepping forward. 'Do you want to stand up again? You were better standing before.'

Mary nodded, and Sherlock helped her back onto her feet. She tipped forward slightly, so that her forehead was against his chest and as she blew out, he could feel her warm breath on his front.

He could no longer reach the small of her back, so he gripped her shoulders and hoped this was enough. She grabbed handfuls of his shirt and blew harder and more slowly.

Comfort said nothing to either of them until it had passed and then she smiled at Mary.

'You're doing brilliantly,' she said. 'Very well done.'

Mary nodded.

'Do you want more water?' Sherlock asked, opening the second bottle.

She took a couple of mouthfuls and handed it back, ready for the next contraction. This time she automatically stood facing Sherlock with her head against him, holding onto his shirt and he simply stood there, rubbing her arms.

After two more contractions, he was pleased to discover he was bored. He quietly retreated into his mind and just became her resting pole for the duration. He was beginning to feel thoroughly pleased with himself when she suddenly swore and ran sobbing into the little bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Fortunately, Comfort was already approaching the door to knock.

'Mary? Are you OK in there?'

'Go away!' Mary wailed. 'I don't want you here!'

'I don't think she means to be rude,' Sherlock said.

'Oh it's fine.' She leaned towards the door. 'Mary, love, it's probably time we examined you again.'

'No! I don't want you to! I can't do this! I can't! I don't care what you say! I just want you all to go away! This is just too stupid!'

Sherlock stepped forward and knocked on the door. 'Mary? Listen, I think this is probably transition, isn't it? Because you said you might feel like giving up…'

'It's not! I do want to give up!'

'Yes, that's what I mean. The thing is, up until a minute ago, you were doing very well and were completely in charge. And now you're not. So logically, this could be transition.'

There was no answer; just quiet sobbing.

'If it is, then it means that the pushing bit might start quite soon.'

'I can't!' Mary cried.

'Actually, I think you can,' Sherlock replied. 'The woman I know, the woman John knows; that woman wouldn't shirk a little bit of hard work. That woman's already done astonishing things. Lots of astonishing things. That woman can absolutely do this. You can, Mary. I promise you, you can.'

There was quiet.

'But it might be better if you come out now. Might be best if Baby Watson wasn't born in a toilet. Though obviously, I would like to tease her about that repeatedly through her life. But it's up to you.'

There was another quiet pause, then the door opened again and Mary shuffled out.

'Sorry,' she muttered.

'It's fine,' Sherlock said. 'I've been wanting to lock myself in the bathroom for the past six hours. I'm really just jealous that you got there first.'

She smiled a somewhat embarrassed smile, and turned to Comfort.

'It all feels a bit different now,' she said.

'OK, I'm going to examine you again.'

'Please don't make me get on the bed,' Mary said.

'It's fine, Just stand still and I'll check from here.'

She got down onto her knees and Sherlock watched Mary's face. She winced slightly.

'Are you OK?' he asked quietly.

'Funny question,' she replied.

He gently lifted her head until she was looking at him. 'You can do this,' he said.

She nodded and smiled. 'OK then.'

'Right,' Comfort said. 'I think you're good to go. Have you thought about how you want to deliver?'

'I hadn't,' Mary said. 'But given how it's gone so far, I'd like to try standing.'

'Standing?' Sherlock said. 'Seriously?'

'Mary nodded. 'I'll have gravity working with me.'

'Standing sounds good to me,' Comfort said.

'OK. What do I do?' Sherlock asked.

'Just stand there, I suppose. OK, contraction coming.'

'Push with it,' Comfort said, putting pads down on the floor at their feet. Push down now.'

Mary grabbed hold of Sherlock and pushed, grimacing as she did so.

From the outside, nothing seemed to be happening at all.

'Breathe with it,' Comfort said quietly. 'Push again.'

Mary pushed. Sherlock clung onto her.

'Am I getting this even slightly right?' Mary asked when the contraction was through.

'Push down,' Comfort said.

'I am pushing down.'

'Push like you're trying to do a massive poo.'

Sherlock and Mary stared at each other, then both simultaneously dissolved into fits of giggles.

'Oh no!' Mary said through her laughter. 'Oh no, this hurts.' She gripped more of Sherlock's shirt. He was relatively certain he felt the seam go where the sleeve connected to the shoulder.

Mary pushed.

'Like you're trying to defecate,' he said to her. 'Aim for my shoes.'

She sniggered and pushed.

'I know you've never liked these ones,' he said.

She pushed again.

'Please God tell me something's happening!' she yelled when that contraction was through.

'Things are happening,' Comfort said. 'It's not the speediest I've ever seen, but it's not the slowest either.'

'Is the head out yet?' Sherlock asked.

'Not yet,' Comfort said. 'Are you ready to push again?'

Mary pushed. She held her breath and pushed hard.

'Oh, Christ, I'm dizzy,' she murmured, slumping against Sherlock.

He held onto her for dear life. She rested her head against him, but looked up to smile at him.

'This isn't going very well, is it?' she asked, wanly.

'It's going very well,' Comfort said. 'If you're dizzy though, it might be better if you got on the bed. You don't want to faint on the baby.'

Mary took a step towards the bed, and then stopped, surprised. She and Sherlock looked down as a cascade of amniotic fluid flowed out of her, splashing on the floor and spattering Sherlock's trousers and shoes.

'Whoa,' she said, pulling a face. 'Oh. Ouch. And… that's…'

'On the bed,' Sherlock said firmly. He lifted her entirely and got her onto the bed.

'Tip your pelvis forward,' Comfort said. 'Sit right back so the baby's got a clear run.'

Sherlock still had both arms wrapped around Mary, and as he tried to move away, she gripped his arm and clung onto it while she pushed.

'Good girl,' Comfort said, watching carefully. 'Push again like that!'

Mary pushed again. Sherlock's arm slowly went numb.

'And again,' Comfort said.

Mary held her breath and pushed again until she fell, limply against Sherlock.

'I need a rest,' she muttered.

Sherlock cradled her while she breathed slowly and calmly.

'We're getting there,' Comfort said, clearly anxious not to wait too long. 'When you're ready, have another big push.

Mary waited, gathering her strength. Sherlock had just thought she'd actually fallen asleep when she sat up again.

'I'm so hot,' she said, pulling at the gown. Sherlock instinctively undid it for her so that she could pull it cleanly away.

'Thanks,' Mary muttered, clearly oblivious to her sudden nudity. She gripped his arm and pushed hard.

'Good!' Comfort cried. 'That's the stuff. One more like that!'

Mary pushed. She continued to push long after Sherlock had started to breathe again. She finished with a loud, bitter yell.

A wide, slow smile spread across Comfort's face.

'Here's the head!' she said.

'Really?' Sherlock said, dropping Mary and darting around to see.

'Sherlock!' Mary yelled.

'God! Sorry!' he said, coming back and giving her his arm again. 'The head is out though,' he whispered at her.

She grinned.

'The cord's nice and clear, so another big push, and we'll have her.'

Mary concentrated and pushed. As she did so, there was an enormous slithering movement, and then Comfort was suddenly placing a slippery, mauve baby onto Mary's chest.

'Oh, God!' Mary said, looking down at her.

'God,' Sherlock whispered, observing every aspect of the tiny human.

The tiny human seemed oddly tense and largely confused by this sudden change in its circumstances.

Comfort stood quickly and covered her with a towel and started rubbing her hard.

'Have a good cry now, baby girl,' she said, rubbing and rubbing.

'Should I slap her?' Sherlock asked.

'No you bloody shouldn't.' Mary whispered through tears.

The baby gathered strength and finally opened her mouth to cry. She gathered volume and strength as she cried and cried and slowly her colour changed from purple to puce and on to scarlet.

'There's the ticket,' Comfort said, hugely satisfied.

Sherlock wiped his face. He was surprised to find it quite wet, despite his enormous grin.

'Did you want to cut the cord?' Comfort asked him.

'God no,' he replied.

She chuckled to herself as she waited for the cord to stop pulsing, and then she clamped it off and cut the baby free.

'Should I try to feed her?' Mary asked.

'Let her cry a while longer,' Comfort said. 'Food can wait a while, but she needs those lungs up to speed.'

Sherlock dried his face again.

'I should go and tell John,' he said.

'In a minute,' Mary said. 'Don't leave her with me just yet.'

Sherlock chose not to point out that he was probably the least able person in the room just then. And that included the baby. He just stayed quietly where he was, by Mary's head, staring at the baby.

Slowly her cries quietened.

'I'm going to take her now and check her over,' Comfort said. She lifted the baby from Mary and took her to the station with the heat lamps and the scales.

Mary smiled up at Sherlock.

'Thank you,' she said.

'You did all the work.'

'But still, thank you.'

'Should I go and tell John now?'

Mary wiped her face and looked down at herself.

'Where the hell did my gown go.'

'Oh, it's on the floor. Hang on.' Sherlock grabbed it and swept it over her, just as Comfort returned the baby.

'No, no,' she said. 'Skin on skin for the first feed. It'll be easier.'

'Should I feed now?'

'It'll help with the placenta. Do you know what you're doing?'

Mary took the baby back. 'In theory at any rate.'

'Tummy to tummy.' She positioned the baby on Mary's stomach.

Sherlock watched intently as the baby blindly took the nipple and instantly started sucking.

'Look at that!' he said. 'That's amazing! Isn't she clever!'

'She's a bit good.'

Sherlock watched for a full minute before he remembered himself.

'I really think I should go and tell John now.'

'Yeah, OK. Oo, gosh'

Mary frowned, and Sherlock couldn't help but peer as something large and red was carried away from her in a bowl.

'Actually, Sherlock,' Mary said. 'I know I keep saying this, but can you stay just a second more? I want to clean myself up a bit, and I'll need you to hold the baby.'

'OK.'

'Actually, maybe you could take her downstairs to him? He really should see.'

Comfort turned around quickly. 'What was that?'

'I don't think I'd be allowed to just waltz out with a baby,' Sherlock said. 'There was a surprising amount of security on this ward.'

'Certainly not!' Comfort agreed.

'But he needs to see!' Mary said, in tears again. 'He needs to see his baby! Please?'

Sherlock glanced at Comfort who was looking confused.

'The baby's father, Mary's husband, is downstairs. He was shot earlier today, I mean, he's fine, but he couldn't be here, so Mary had to make do with me.'

'You were very good,' Mary said, still crying.

'Yes, but I'm not her father.'

'How bad is the father?' Comfort asked.

'Not that bad,' Sherlock answered. 'He'll be out tomorrow or the day after. Could I bring him here?'

Comfort nodded very slightly. 'I'm sure I wouldn't notice him coming up if he's able to walk.'

'He could probably demolish walls to see his child right now.'

Mary smiled at Sherlock again. 'Can you pass me the bag? I want to dress her. And me, come to that.'

Sherlock lifted the bag onto the bed, and Mary shuffled forward.

'Actually, take her a minute,' she said. 'I can't see what I'm doing.'

She thrust the baby, still just wrapped in a white, hospital towel, at Sherlock. He took her without even thinking about it.

'There you go,' Mary said to her. 'This is your Uncle Sherlock.'

Sherlock blinked at the little thing, slightly shocked. He could feel tears threatening again, and a painful lump in his throat which he couldn't quiet swallow away. The baby opened her eyes to reveal slate grey irises. Sherlock examined them closely.

'I can't tell what colour her eyes are,' he said.

'They're not any colour yet,' Comfort said. 'It'll be a while before the colour comes through.'

Sherlock examined her eyelashes and faint eyebrows and tiny fingernails.

'She's so small,' he whispered. 'She's all there, but she's so small.'

'Not too small,' Comfort said. 'She's six pounds ten ounces. A perfectly good size.'

'Yes,' he said. Then he looked up. 'She's urinated on me.'

Mary laughed. 'Sorry, I was going to put a nappy on her, but you seemed so interested.'

'My interest is rapidly diminishing.'

'OK. Give her here then, and go and get John if you can.' Sherlock handed her back somewhat reluctantly. 'And Sherlock? Don't move him if he can't manage.'

'I won't,' Sherlock said, knowing that he'd give him a fireman's lift to get him up here if necessary.

'If he can't make it, come back to tell me.'

'I will.'

With one last look at the tiny baby, Sherlock left.


	7. Chapter 7

John chewed on his thumbnail feeling distinctly disgruntled.

It was true that he couldn't expect Sherlock to run back and forth from the delivery room too regularly – after all, that would be unfair to Mary – but he hadn't expected to be entirely ignored. He was burning with questions about how far dilated she was, and whether the baby's heartbeat was still clear and strong, and whether Mary was comfortable with the pain relief, and whether, and his heart gripped him at this point, she might need emergency surgery.

He had, if truth be told, expected Sherlock to at least try to keep him informed about some of this stuff, and the fact that he couldn't be bothered was beginning to rankle.

The door opened and Sherlock came in, pushing an empty wheelchair.

'What the hell are you doing here?' John yelled. 'You are supposed to be upstairs with my wife! How dare you leave her on her own!'

Sherlock staggered backwards under the force of her anger.

'Get back there! Right now!' John shouted.

'I will! I'm going to! But I was going to take you back with me!'

'What?'

'Not for long, I promise, but just for a peep.'

'A peep at what? The baby? Oh God, is the baby here?' John found he was welling up, and when Sherlock grinned at him, the tears fell.

'She's here,' Sherlock said. 'Well, not here, obviously, but upstairs, and the brilliantly named Comfort, who is probably the best midwife in the Northern Hemisphere, said that you could go up quickly to see her. And Mary agreed as long as you're able, and I'm taking you either way.' He came forward to the bed. 'You have to see her, John. You just have to.'

'Is she amazing?' John asked, swiping more tears away.

'Oh yes,' Sherlock said. He held up his arm to reveal a dark patch on the fabric. 'She urinated on me.'

'Oh well she clearly has discernment then,' John laughed.

'My thoughts precisely.' His face grew more serious. 'I want to get you there, but ideally in one piece. I'll take most of your weight to get you in the chair, but you must tell me if you're uncomfortable.'

'OK.'

Sherlock clipped John's cannula closed and disconnected it from the machine, wrapping the tube up out of the way.

'You seem to be a dab hand at this,' John said.

'I am. Seven, I think.'

'Seven what?'

'I've escaped from seven hospital rooms. As long as you pay attention to any pain, it's really quite easy.'

'OK.'

'I'm going to lift you now.'

'OK. I'm ready.'

He did try to take a little of his own weight until Sherlock gave him a severe look.

'I'm not going to help you if you're going to do anything stupid,' he said.

'Says you!'

'Yes, says me. You're a father now. You have to take care of yourself.'

John grinned as Sherlock lowered him into the wheelchair. Sherlock positioned him reasonably comfortably, and then they were off. It was quiet in the corridors, and on either side, dark rooms loomed. John tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, as if it were clearly perfectly normal that a patient might need to be wheeled around in the middle of the night, but they didn't see a soul, and as the lift door closed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

'Well that was easy,' he said.

'I told you; I've had lots of practice. It was easier in this case because I was able to pop into a number of rooms to set the nurse alarms off.'

'Sherlock!'

'What? You're out, aren't you?'

'Yes but still.'

'I didn't make you scale the outside of the building, therefore you ought to be grateful.'

'I am.'

John chucked to himself. As the lift door opened again, he found he was growing increasingly nervous and excited.

'She is OK, isn't she?' he said very quietly.

'Who? The baby? Of course she is. I'd go so far as to suggest she's significantly superior to either parent. I don't know quite how you managed it.'

John smiled. Sherlock pushed him up to the ward door, waited for a minute, then waved at someone who had clearly just appeared. At first he thought it might be Mary, but then a large, contented looking midwife opened the door.

'Comfort, I assume?' John said.

'Yes indeed. Are you well? Can you come for a quick look?'

'I didn't get all the way up here to turn back now.'

'OK, just for a minute then. Come on in.'

The butterflies started again as he was wheeled towards a room, and with not quite as much warning as he'd like, he was through the door and into the room, and looking up at a bed where Mary was holding a small bundle, looking slightly tired, but otherwise glowing with joy. She beamed at him, and her eyes welled.

'You got up here!' she said. 'Come and look! Look at her. Here, Sherlock, hand her over.'

Sherlock carefully took the little bundle and carried her to John. He hesitated.

'You will be careful, won't you?'

'Give her here. Now.'

Sherlock passed her to him. His breath caught slightly. He found that she was quite different to any image he'd had in his mind beforehand. She was slightly squashier and her hair was finer and darker. Her nose was the most perfect of buttons.

He sniffed and shifted her slightly.

'Wow,' he said eventually.

'Yeah,' Mary agreed. 'She is, isn't she?'

'She's amazing.' He sniffed again and cuddled her very gently. He looked up at Mary. 'How are you? Are you OK?'

She nodded and wiped her eyes.

'Can't stop the bloody tears, but yes I'm fine. I don't even need stitches.'

'Wow, that is good!'

'Yes. A bit of a graze, apparently, but I'll be fine in days. I will admit to being a bit sore right now though.'

John smiled and nodded. 'Yeah. You might want to take a paracetamol or something for that.'

She sniggered at him, before her face became calm again. 'I'm really sorry you weren't here for it,' she said.

'Me too. I'm sorry too. I'm assuming my substitute did a reasonable job though?' he looked around for Sherlock. 'Where's he gone?'

'He stepped out. He said he'd give us a few minutes together. I didn't think you were listening.'

John looked down at the baby again. 'No. I probably wasn't.'

'He was good though. We owe him.'

'Yes. We do.'

'I think I did rather efficiently resolve the five minute problem though.'

John laughed. 'You did a bit.'

'What about a name?'

John looked up at her. He had had a name in mind for weeks now, and though he hadn't mentioned it to Mary, he was relatively certain she knew he was holding one back from all the suggestions and lists.

The door opened and Sherlock came back in.

'Are you all OK?' he asked. 'It's been five minutes. I imagine you could have longer, but Comfort's just said that she'd like to move Mary and the little one to the postnatal ward for the rest of the night.'

'In a second,' Mary said. 'John's about to tell me the name he's been holding back.'

'Oh, that name,' Sherlock said, looking intrigued.

'He didn't tell you either then?' Mary asked.

'Me? No. Well?' He raised an eyebrow at John.

John blushed as he looked at them with their matching, know-it-all expressions.

'Well, it's only a suggestion,' he muttered.

'What is?' Mary asked.

John looked down at his daughter again.

'I really like Scarlet.'

'Oh!' Sherlock said. 'Oh yes! That would work.'

Mary gave him a slow smile. 'I like it,' she said quietly.

'Are you sure? I don't want you to feel you have to just because I missed the birth. And because I got shot. And, y'know, the other thing.'

'I like it,' Mary said again, glowing. 'Scarlet's perfect for her.' She frowned. 'Are you OK? You've gone a bit pale.'

'I'm fine,' John said, instantly realising he wasn't. Fortunately Sherlock was already moving towards him to give Scarlet back to Mary. 'Sorry,' he slurred.

'Get him back down to bed,' Mary said.

'John?' Sherlock said, squatting by the side of the chair.

John took a deep breath and felt his head clearing slightly. He nodded at Sherlock.

'I'm fine to get back. We should let the girls go to bed now though.'

Sherlock nodded. He went to the chair to gather his jacket, coat and scarf and pulled them all on.

'We'll be back in the morning, I'm sure,' he said to Mary.

'Thank you,' she said. 'Seriously, thanks for everything.'

'It's fine.'

'Don't move John again. I'll be discharged tomorrow and I'll bring her down to his room then.'

'Understood.'

'Goodnight then.'

'Goodnight,' John said to Mary.

She snuggled Scarlet closer and smiled at him.

Comfort opened the door with a meaningful look, and Sherlock pushed John back out into the corridor. They didn't talk as they made their way back to the lift.

'Are you sure you're OK?' Sherlock asked, as they started clanging their way down again.

'Yes. I admit that now some of the adrenalin's going, I'm feeling a bit sore and a bit woozy.'

'Woozy?'

'Yes. Woozy. Well known medical term that.'

Sherlock chuckled quietly, and pushed him out onto his own ward.

They weren't so lucky this time, and a very upset looking nurse charged towards them.

'There he is! Where the hell did you take him?' she hissed.

'Just upstairs,' Sherlock replied. 'We didn't even leave the hospital, for heaven's sake, there's no reason to make such a fuss. I'll put him back in his bed now.' He pushed him right past, leaving her confused and annoyed behind him.

He got John back into the room, and this time John didn't help at all as Sherlock gently put him back in the bed. The room spun gently, so he closed his eyes and thought of his daughter.

Sherlock unclipped the cannula tube and reconnected it to the morphine.

'There you go,' he said. 'Feel better now?'

'Yes, thank you.' John reached out to take Sherlock's hand. As always, Sherlock seemed to need a half second to process the touch and become comfortable with it. 'Thank you for today.'

Sherlock shook his head, but he didn't release his hand.

'I didn't do anything really. Mary did all the work. She was amazing.'

'Was she?'

'She was. She was strong and courageous and brilliant. You'd have been so proud of her.'

'I am. I really am.' John looked up at Sherlock. 'But I don't love her.'

Sherlock couldn't hide either his surprise or his concern. John squeezed his hand gently.

'It's OK,' he said quietly. 'I'm going to keep working on it. I'll continue hoping that I'll start loving her again, but I'm not there yet. I just think, given today, you ought to know.'

Sherlock nodded slowly. 'You're very tired,' he said. 'And probably overcharged, what with getting shot and becoming a father and all that. You should probably sleep now.'

John smiled and squeezed his hand.

'You're probably right.' He released the hand. 'And either way, it's not something for you to worry about. I'm going to go to sleep, and you should head home. Come back tomorrow though. We might need your help tomorrow.'

'Why would I go home?' Sherlock asked, frowning at him. 'You're here, Mary's here, Scarlet's here; why wouldn't I be here?' He shrugged his coat off again and settled onto the visitor's chair with it draped over him like a blanket.

John's watched as Sherlock's chin dropped to his chest and he started snoring gently. He had, quite effectively, switched himself off. John smiled at him gently before following suit and falling asleep himself.


	8. The next day

**I have to say, I'm not sorry that I gave some of you a surprise. I was aiming for an emotional response.**

**However, I wrote 'But I don't love her... I'm going to keep working on it.' I did _not_ write; 'But I don't love her and I never will so I'm giving up on that relationship.' Nor did I write 'But I don't love her, so I'm clearly going to jump into bed with you.' **

**I love a bit of Johnlock, but that doesn't mean I want to put it into every story that I write. In this one, I'm interested in examining John and his emotions. Yes, his relationship with Sherlock is a big part of that, but so is his relationship with Mary, and with Scarlet.**

**To my mind, John's just been through a massive year. He got married, has a baby he didn't really expect but he missed the birth, he doesn't know his wife's name, and the best friend he thought was dead is suddenly back in his life. Oh, and he's just been shot. I think it's pretty natural that some of this stuff is still whirling around for him, and all he's done so far is to share one aspect of that with his friend.**

**Plus there's the issue of how Sherlock's going to deal with all the stress.**

**That's something that interests me, so I'm writing it. I hope it interests you too, but if it doesn't, then that's OK.**

**Obviously, what you read or don't read is entirely up to you, but let's celebrate the diversity of what's out there. It would be a dull fandom indeed if every single story was exactly what you want to read, with no deviation from that specific theme. While an individual reader might not appreciate humour/angst/fluff/slash or whatever, another reader probably will.**

**I've said before that I cannot please everyone. This year I'm taking that further; I do not intend to please everyone. That is not to say I do not appreciate my readers (Oh, God, I appreciate my readers! I love every single one of you!) It just means I'm thinking more; 'Is writing this making me happy?' and less 'Will writing this please/upset my readers?'. This story is what it is, and I'm thrilled that other people are enjoying it. I'm enjoying it. If you're not, then please, find something else that's more to your taste. There's a lot of stuff out there.**

**Anyhow; on we go.**

**Pip xxx**

* * *

The next day.

John balled up a second tissue, and this time he hit his target. Unfortunately, Sherlock merely swiped at his right ear and slept on. John balled up another tissue and threw it. It got Sherlock cleanly on the temple, and there was a slight pause in his breathing. But then it started up again, low and slow.

'Sherlock!' John said loudly.

'Mmm, ng,' was the response.

'Sherlock, wake up.'

Sherlock sighed. 'I'm tired. Let me sleep.'

'No, I need you to wake up now.'

'Leave me alone! I had a busy day yesterday.' Sherlock curled up and rolled to face away from John.

John sighed.

'I think I'm bleeding again!' he shouted.

Sherlock whipped around and was standing by the bed, blinking and looking slightly confused, within two seconds.

'Thank you,' John said. 'Now, it's eight o'clock, which means visiting upstairs has started. Can you go up and check on Mary.'

Sherlock continued blinking.

'Please,' John said.

'Sometimes,' Sherlock said, 'you are the embodiment of pure evil.'

'Yes, and I get stuff done. Now will you go up?'

Sherlock pulled his hands through his hair, wincing when one of them got caught in a tangle.

'I need to go home and get clean,' he said. He looked down at his crumpled shirt and trousers. 'I'm filthy.'

'Well I got shot, so you're my bitch now.'

'Can you check; is this shirt torn?' He turned his back on John.

'Yep, there's a split in the shoulder seem.'

'Your wife owes me a new shirt.'

'We owe you a lot. Now, will you go and check on her?'

Sherlock sighed, enormously.

'You might get to cuddle the baby…' John said.

'I'm not interested in cuddling babies! For God's sake, John!'

But Sherlock was already reaching for his jacket, and John grinned.

'Fine, don't cuddle the baby. Just check she's OK, see if she's likely to be discharged today, and report back.'

Sherlock growled and left.

oOo

Sherlock listened to the lift as it cranked is way up two floors. As he walked past the door to the antenatal ward, he peered in, wondering who might be in the room now, where he'd been last night. It felt strange to pass by it without mention, and to go into the postnatal ward. There was a gaggle of visitors at the nurse's desk, asking where their relatives might be. He stood and waited, wondering if they knew how inferior their newborn relatives were.

'Mary Watson,' he said at the front desk, and a sheet was consulted.

'Bed 14, room three.'

'Thank you.'

He made his way there. Mary was looking relatively healthy, though somewhat dishevelled and starry eyed. She looked up at him, seemingly confused as to why he was there.

'John wants a report,' he said. 'How was the night?'

'Oh. The night. Fine. It was fine.' She nodded.

'Good.'

He continued looking at her.

'Is Scarlet quiet well?' he asked. He peered at the bundle resting on Mary's lap.

'Quite well, yes.' She nodded again. 'Only, she didn't appreciate the cot.' She nodded at the clear, Perspex cot by the side of the bed.

'She expressed a preference?'

'She was very clear.'

'She's eight hours old.'

'She knows her mind.' Mary grimaced at him. 'If truth be told, I'm feeling a little out of my element.' Her eyes welled and Sherlock panicked.

'No! Don't cry! Yesterday tears were acceptable, but that was yesterday! I don't think I could manage two days in a row!'

Mary sniggered and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

'Sorry. It's hormones and lack of sleep, and I haven't even been able to have my breakfast yet because they put it tantalisingly out of reach, and I've got a baby on me!' She sniffed. 'Oh, Sherlock, I can't even work out how to go to the loo! I can't leave her here – there are signs saying to take her, but we went in, and then I couldn't do anything because I had a baby stuck to me! I can't do any of this! I can't even have a wee!'

Sherlock boggled.

'Don't tell John,' she said, wiping her eyes again. 'Please; I don't want him to think I'm rubbish. Oh, and because I had a tiny shred of dignity left, I accidentally bled on the bed because I can't sort myself out properly. I feel foul.'

'I'm pretty sure the nurses here have seen blood before.'

Mary cried some more.

'Can't you put her down just for a minute? Just while you eat?'

'She says no.' Mary wiped her eyes again. 'Could you do me a massive favour and sit with her just while I go to the loo and shovel some food in?'

'Will I be acceptable to her?'

'I suppose only time will tell.'

Mary handed her across, and Sherlock took her in a fairly messy fashion. 'It was easier last night,' he commented. 'I seem to have grown uncomfortable around her.'

'You're fine.'

Sherlock looked down at the sleeping baby and felt an unbidden grin spreading across his face.

'She is lovely,' he said.

Mary smiled. 'What?'

'Sorry,' he flushed. 'I hadn't intended to say that aloud.'

'She is lovely. It will be worth it eventually. It's just I'm having trouble adjusting. It's funny; nothing in the world had me prepared for this.'

'Well with your past, probably not.'

Mary started crying again.

'Sorry, playing that back, that probably wasn't tactful.'

'No but you're right. What if I can't do this at all?'

'Let's start small. Why don't you go to the bathroom and eat your breakfast?'

She nodded and hopped down from the bed. Sherlock looked at Scarlet. She was completely indifferent to his presence. He tentatively sat down on the chair by the bed and positioned her in the crook of his knees to continue his examination of her.

She was paler than she had been the day before. Her complexion had taken on a pleasing, creamy look. Her nose was small and her nostrils perfectly symmetrical. She'd found a hat from somewhere (though Sherlock suspected Mary had a hand in this), so her hair was covered. Her eyebrows where faint and pale brown. Her lips were pink, and currently pursed as she sucked on nothing in her sleep. Her hands were perfectly formed, though the skin on them was slightly flaky. He forgave her this, reasoning that she hadn't had time to learn about moisturising just yet, and she had been surrounded with fluid until just a few hours before, so it was bound to take time for her to adjust to the arid world.

Mary came back and smiled at him.

'You know, she is particularly lovely when she's on someone else.'

'If you want to have a shower while she sleeps on me, I'm perfectly comfortable. You know; if you want to.'

'Thank you. Let me eat, and I might take you up on that offer.'

She sat back on the bed and started on a box of Weetabix and a small plastic cup of tea.

'God, I forgot to ask; how's John? Sorry; I'm totally self-obsessed today.'

'He's fine. Irritable. Evil. The usual.'

'Well that's good. Any news on when he'll be allowed out?'

'Not yet, but he's hoping for today. What about you?'

Mary swallowed the tea in one, enormous gulp. 'Twelve at the latest. She needs thoroughly checking first, and the paediatrician usually comes around about eleven.'

'She's perfect!' Sherlock said.

'Well yeah, obviously. But they still need to check her hip sockets and startle reflex and stuff.'

'She's perfect,' he muttered, glowering.

'Maybe it would be best if you weren't around for that bit.'

'Humph.'

'That shower,' she said. 'Would you mind having her just a little longer? I'm craving feeling clean.'

'I know how you feel.'

'I promise I'll be as quick as I can.'

'Take all the time you need. I'm perfectly fine with her.'

'Thank you.' She gathered her clothes from the bag and disappeared off again.

Sherlock sat and stroked Scarlet's hands, smiling to himself. He was soon lost in his mind palace, discovering rooms within rooms that contained the exact look of her eyes when she'd opened them the night before, and the slight kink in her eyebrows. For a second he panicked that he might have lost other rooms of stuff, but after a quick check, he was happy that these were just new rooms.

'Oh God, that's a million times better,' Mary said, coming back and startling him. 'I feel quite a lot more with it now. Sorry about earlier.'

'It's fine.'

'No, I need to get a grip really.'

'There's still time… Oh! What's happening! What's going on?'

Scarlet had turned bright red. Mary peered at her.

'I think she might be pooing. That's good; she's got to manage that before they let us leave… Oh, you're giving her back then?'

Sherlock had stood, and was holding her at arm's length at Mary. She smiled as she took her.

'There are limits,' he told her. 'I'd better get back to John anyhow. I'll come back at eleven to help you carry the bag downstairs.'

'Thank you.' She reached out before he could leave and caught his wrist. 'Really, thank you.'

'You're welcome.'

oOo

He wandered back downstairs to John's room, where he found him sitting up with a particularly sour expression on his face.

'You were ages!' he complained. 'It really is unfair! It's not on that my daughter has spent more of her life with you than she has with me!'

'Stop it!' Sherlock thundered. John was taken quite aback, but Sherlock didn't back off. 'Stop sitting there feeling sorry for yourself and blaming me! Between you and Mary, everyone is being far too emotional. To be honest, Scarlet's the only Watson worth being around at the moment, so stop whining at me.'

John pulled a face.

'I can say this to you,' Sherlock said, 'or I can say it to Mary. Which would you prefer?'

'Fine.' John rubbed his face. 'What's wrong with Mary?'

'I don't know, but I'm assuming it's hormonal. She was better when she'd eaten and showered. Scarlet's apparently quite clingy.'

'She's nine hours old!'

'I'm not judging her! It's just Mary's struggling to work out how to do things while attached to a newborn baby. I held her so she could… do certain necessary things.'

'Poor thing,' John said quietly. 'I really should be there with her.'

'I could break you out again, I suppose. It'll be harder today though; there are more people about, and the story will have gone around so they'll be on the alert. Mary says she should be down here by midday though.'

'Oh, that's something.'

'What about you?'

'I intend to bully Glen into freeing me when he's on this afternoon. I am sorry for snapping. I don't think I can quiet express what torture this is for me.'

'No. I do sympathise. And she is particularly lovely.'

'Thanks, Sherlock, that helps a lot.'

'But she is! I've had a look at some of the other newborns on the ward, and she's quite clearly the best one.'

John grinned tiredly. 'Well, as long as there's been a proper comparison.' He winced slightly and shifted to try to get more comfortable.

'Yes.' Sherlock gave him a long look. 'Have you considered how you're going to manage at home? You won't be able to carry people and things around, and Mary won't be available to be a nurse.'

'I can look after myself.'

'Yes, and who will look after Mary?'

John stared blankly.

'I think that you should consider staying at Baker Street for a few days. I can lift and carry, Mrs Hudson can supply food and drinks, Mary can sit underneath a baby, and you can recuperate. If you want, I can sort out my room for you all, so that you're close to the kitchen and bathroom.'

John blinked. 'You'd do that?'

'Of course I'd do that. Perhaps not forever, but for a few days.'

'OK. Well, thank you. And sorry for before; of course it was right that you should stay with Scarlet while Mary got on with stuff.'

'Yes, I thought it was.'

'I'll talk to Mary. Hopefully soon. I have to admit, I'm really want to get home and start getting on with things, and I suspect Mary feels the same, but even so, there are some annoying practicalities.'

'Yes. Now I'm going to go home and get clean myself. Is there anything you need me to bring in for you?'

'Food. Food, and a thermos of tea.'

'I'll get Mrs Hudson on the case.'

'Thank you.' He caught Sherlock's wrist. 'Really, thank you.'

Sherlock frowned and nodded.

'I'll be back in a bit,' he said. 'When I come back, I'll go straight up to Mary to see how the land lies.'

'OK. Oh, you might need to go to our place to get the car seat.'

Sherlock sighed. 'Anything else?'

'Probably a million things, but that's the only one I can think about now.'

'Good.'

He glowered and marched out.

oOo

He arrived back at Baker Street forty minutes later, to find Mrs Hudson busying about the table with a can of polish and a duster. The contents of the table had been placed on the floor with the impeccable precision of someone who needed to replace them perfectly.

'You!' he yelled pointing at her.

'Oh, settle down, Sherlock,' she said, waving her duster at him. 'I've been doing this for years and it's never bothered you before.'

'It _has_ bothered me.'

'And yet you've survived. What's happening with the case? Did it take you all night to find him?'

'Oh, no; John got shot, and Mary had the baby.'

'What!' She started across to him. 'John got shot? Where is he? Is he OK?'

'Of course he's OK! Would I be here if he weren't?'

'Oh thank goodness. And the baby?'

'The baby's fine. Mary's fine. Everyone's fine and yet causing a ridiculous amount of fuss. Well, the adults are. The infant is being perfectly reasonable while everyone continues to be stupid around her. Now, I need to be back at the hospital at eleven, and I intend to spend all of the intervening time in the bath.'

She followed him to the bathroom.

'What do I need to do?'

'Food. Tea. Oh, and they might be coming back here this afternoon so that you can look after them. I assumed that was fine.'

'Of course that's fine.'

'Good then.' He turned the taps on. 'Now go away.'

He shut the bathroom door on her and went through to his bedroom where Mrs Hudson was already waiting.

'Mary and the baby,' she said.

'What about them?'

'How are they?'

'Ms Watson the younger is the most perfect specimen of a human child. Her name is Scarlet.' He felt his smile appearing again, and he fought against it.

'Oh, Sherlock...'

'No! Stop that! Ms Watson the elder is emotional. Probably due to hormones and the like.'

'Well, she's just given birth.'

'Yes. I just said that. Now please, leave me alone. I've been surrounded by people in various states of high emotion and even undress for twenty four hours, and now I need to be alone.' He glared at her. 'People keep thanking me,' he muttered. 'It's exhausting.'

'Who's been naked around you?'

He went back into the bathroom and slammed the other door.


	9. Later

9 – Later

Sherlock darted down the stairs to the front door, muttering curses at the person standing outside for making such a damned racket. He knew that the person behind the door couldn't possibly hear him, but he was also fairly certain he was being quiet enough not to wake the slumbering baby in his arms, and that, he felt, ought to take priority. Not least because he'd spent a whole hour pacing back and forth in the flat, keeping her quiet until she finally fell asleep, and he didn't particularly want that time to have been wasted.

Just as he got to the front door, the knocker rattled hard against it.

He flung the door widely open.

'What do you want?' His look turned monstrous. 'Oh. It's _you._'

'Of course it's me,' Mycroft said. 'I expected you to be at my office twenty-four hours ago.'

'I told you Mary was in labour.'

'Yes. Clearly the labour is over now,' he gave the bundle in Sherlock's arm a look of extreme distaste. 'Is that it?'

Sherlock turned slightly so that Scarlet was several inches further away from Mycroft.

'How's not getting involved going at the moment?' Mycroft purred.

'Better than your diet, by the look of things.'

'Oh dear, Sherlock, a snide comment about my weight. I'm wounded. Now give it back to its parents and let's go to work.'

'I can't. Her parents are asleep.'

Mycroft gave him an astonished look. 'You're _babysitting_?'

'No! I'm just letting them sleep.' He raised his chin at Mycroft.

Mrs Hudson's door opened and she came in.

'Oh, I thought I heard the door go. Hello, Mycroft.'

'Mrs Hudson.'

She looked at Scarlet, moving the blanket slightly away so that she could see her face. 'Isn't she lovely?'

There was no answer, and she glanced at Mycroft.

'You're asking me? I have neither the data more the inclination to answer that question.'

'She is lovely,' Mrs Hudson told him serenely. 'Are the others still asleep?'

'Hopefully,' Sherlock said. 'Though they might not be seeing as _someone _plugged the doorbell back in.'

'What's the point of having one if you keep unplugging it?'

'It's plugged in when I am prepared to take visitors, in the same way that my phone is on when I'm prepared to answer calls.'

'Your phone's never off,' she pointed out. 'Yet you don't always answer if I'm ringing.'

'What do you want?' Sherlock growled at her.

'If you've got company, I can take the baby for a while.' She put her hands out, expectantly.

'Hand it over,' Mycroft said. 'I need to debrief.'

'I'm fine with her. Debrief later.'

'I'm here _now,_' Mycroft said.

'Then you can debrief in front of Scarlet. Unless, of course, you feel she needs to sign the official secrets act or some such nonsense.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock.'

'Fine, stay or go. I don't care either way. There will be a small baby present, possibly also two exhausted and highly emotional parents, and feeding and nappy changing might take place in the living room. There's your data; stay or go.' He turned and started back up the stairs, calling as he went. 'I choose to be here with them, and not with you.'

Mycroft sighed deeply.

'Mrs Hudson, I would quite like some tea.'

'I'm sure you would, dear.' She went back into her flat.

Mycroft considered his options, then turned and went back outside, closing the door firmly behind him.

oOo

Sherlock listened for a reaction, and was vaguely satisfied when he heard the street door close. He could hear John limping about the kitchen, so he stopped on the landing to take the opportunity to snuggle Scarlet to himself, before going inside.

'Go and sit down,' he said. 'Mrs Hudson is already bringing tea.'

'I can make tea,' John muttered.

'Yes, and you can also limp woefully to the sofa and sit underneath your daughter. You whined so much at the hospital that that's all you wanted to do, so do it now.'

'I can make tea,' John said again.

'Fine, make the tea. I'll carry your daughter to the living room and continue teaching her the seventeen signs that someone is lying.'

'No, don't do that,' John said, now smiling slightly. 'I have a sneaking suspicion she'll be running rings round me by the time she's three. She doesn't need the extra help.' He grimaced in pain. 'No, I'm going to sit down now.' He smiled at the sleeping baby. 'I'll take her for a bit.'

'Fine. Excellent suggestion.'

John smiled and shook his head, but he did limp through to the living room and sat down on his chair. Sherlock waited for him to get comfortable, then positioned Scarlet on him before going to finish in the kitchen.

'Do you want pain medication?' he called.

'No, not yet.'

'Don't be a hero. Remember the stuff is there for you to use…'

'Funny man.'

'The Watsons and their competitive painkiller refusal.'

'The Holmeses and their passion for the same.'

Sherlock was surprised.

'To be fair,' he called, 'I think I'm the only one in the family with a substance addiction.' He made the tea and took it through to John, putting it down on the table beside him.

'Don't spill it on the baby,' he said. He sat down in his chair to observe John.

John took an unusual amount of time to meet his eye.

'Sorry,' he said eventually. 'That was a low blow.'

'Yes. It was.'

John didn't expand. His forehead was still creased, his lips hard though pale, and his stare fierce. He looked at Scarlet only to pointlessly rearrange her blanket slightly, but he soon looked away and started staring at Sherlock's shoes.

Sherlock assumed the tension was probably caused by four distinct things; one, John was clearly less able physically than he would either admit to or accept. He'd carried the moses basket down from his flat and this had clearly caused him extreme discomfort, despite it being by far the lightest item. Mary had carried Scarlet in her carrier into the flat at Baker Street, and John had reluctantly allowed Sherlock to carry everything else. A mild cold would be enough to infuriate him if it incapacitated him even slightly. At this moment, he had a bullet hole and a new family he was desperate to protect, and he couldn't even carry his child with confidence. He was a few steps beyond infuriated.

The second thing, and this pained Sherlock too; John had missed the birth. He was acutely aware that he'd been in a position of privilege, however uncomfortable he may personally have found it, and John resented it. He didn't want to, but he did. He also knew that John was relatively certain that he'd never get another chance. Scarlet was unlooked for; neither parent had supposed that starting a family would be easy, and they'd both quietly agreed that they wouldn't try. Though Scarlet had turned out to be desperately wanted, there were no plans to have another child, or even to see whether this might still be possible. John had delivered babies before; not many, but he'd seen the labour process. He'd never get to see his own child enter the world though. When Sherlock allowed himself to think about this, he found he was upset for his friend.

Thirdly, John wasn't as taken with Scarlet as he had hoped to be. Again, this was something he was fighting (always good, when John Watson chose to fight himself – the collateral damage could be huge) but he was constantly aware of it. Sherlock again felt irrationally guilty that he loved the little thing instantly and more than he thought was possible. He simply hoped that John would get there too, eventually. But he knew it pained John, so he had taken to handing her across to him whenever he was in the room, and keeping witnessed snuggles and kisses to a minimum.

The final reason was, of course, Mary. John was fighting an enormous amount of pain and emotional distress about the other three things, which didn't leave him many reserves to sort of the marital strife. Mary was not helping, being some distance away from her usual chirpy self. Sherlock had not raised John's confession from the hospital again, largely because John appeared to wish he could take it back. But it was there, sitting in the room while Sherlock got to protect and bond and had even witnessed that first moment of his child's life.

'You two should have got married…' John's voice resounded around his head.

Sherlock knew that no amount of arguments or persuasion could make John see that this simply wasn't true, and the words had been said too long ago to raise them again now. So he didn't bother.

'Could you stop doing that?' John said.

Sherlock startled out of his daydream. 'Stop doing what?'

'You're doing that thing with your hands.'

Sherlock looked down to find his hands to find them joined at the fingertips while he rested his mouth on them.

'They're my hands…'

'And they're doing that thing they do when you're looking at an incredibly interesting puzzle. You're not. You're looking at me.'

'Ah.'

'I am not an incredibly interesting puzzle; I am your friend. So if there's something you'd like to know about me, just bloody well ask.'

Sherlock opened his mouth. John looked at him expectantly. There was a moment of indecision in the room.

'Actually I've got some research to catch up with if you're fine with her,' Sherlock said.

He turned so that he wouldn't have to see the look on John's face, and sat down at his computer at the table. He turned it on and started opening websites fairly randomly until he was relatively certain that John had lost interest in him. Fortunately, John's interest didn't seem to be settling on anything for very long at the moment.

A glance from the corner of his eye told him that John had finally concentrated on his daughter, and was stroking the back of her hands. He settled to his work until his phone buzzed on the table.

'Oh for God's sake,' he muttered.

'What's up?'

'It's from Mycroft; 'I've told the PM you're on paternity leave'.'

'Ignore him. He's being a prick.'

'I hate him.'

'I know. Look, do you need to work? If you need to go back to work, just say the word, and I'll sort out Mary and Scarlet so we're out of your way.'

Sherlock assessed. He wanted to work, but the tension was still quite low level and, thus far, restricted to his feet. He was horribly conscious that it was likely to spread though. He'd quite like to pace, possibly shout at Mrs Hudson for a while, perhaps go to visit Mycroft for some verbal sparring, maybe to the boxing club for some actual sparring…. He looked at John again, and the baby, now wriggling in her sleep.

'I'm fine,' he said.

'I know, but if you do need us to, just say. It's been a hell of a twenty-four hours for you too.'

'I'm fine.'

'Good. And I'm honestly grateful for everything you've done, but I don't want to get in your way.'

Sherlock started to answer, but he was interrupted by a small squawk from Scarlet. A second later and there was another one. He was instantly charmed, and then felt ridiculous.

'What does she need?' he asked.

'Don't know. Probably milk though. I'll change her before taking her through to Mary. Unless you want to…'

'No. Let me take her while you get up.'

'I can manage.'

'Fine then.'

Sherlock watched as John shuffled and grimaced, and Scarlet continued to squawk.

'Just…' John said.

Sherlock took hold of her so that John could use both hands to lever himself out of the chair. As soon as he was upright he handed her back.

'So no go on the changing then,' John said with a rather forced smile.

'Show me how.'

'What? Really?'

'Yes.'

John carried her to the kitchen table where the changing mat and equipment had been positioned. He put the disgruntled baby down and started undoing her sleepsuit.

'Be careful of her cord,' he said. 'It'll come off soon, but in the meantime, be careful. It's really quite simple; you undo the tapes here, use a wipe to clean her off a bit like so, then the other one goes on like this. That's the back with the number on it.' He folded the nappy around her and stuck it down. 'See; easy. Nothing to it.'

'She doesn't seem to appreciate it.'

'No.' John stroked his finger across her bare tummy while she continued to complain bitterly. 'Over the course of time, she may, just may, realise that I'm doing stuff for her own good.'

'How likely is that?'

John grinned. 'Not at all. Anyhow, then we just need to do her up again.'

He snapped the poppers of her vest closed, and started on the ones on her sleepsuit. Then he stopped and frowned.

'No, that's gone wrong.' He opened them all again and started again. 'Where are all of these supposed to go?'

'It's easy,' Sherlock said. 'Let me have a go…' he gently nudged John aside and undid the suit again. Scarlet continued to wail. 'See, you just pop down the front then… no, this doesn't make sense.' He frowned at the loose fabric on Scarlet's legs. Scarlet kicked her feet out of the suit.

'I think I've see what's gone wrong.' John tried again. He ended up with the garment mostly closed, with a few gaping holes between poppers, and several other poppers that didn't seem to have a match anywhere. 'You know what? That'll do. If it opens, we can gaffer-tape it shut.'

'Fair enough,' Sherlock said, grinning.

'Look at that face!' John said, picking her up.

Scarlet was red through effort at this point. There wasn't a hint of sadness on her face though; it was all pure fury.

'So that's the face you like,' Sherlock said. 'Not the peaceful squidgy one?'

'No.' John jiggled her gently and held her to his shoulder. 'That there's the face of a person who isn't going to take any crap from anyone. That's my girl.' He kissed her head. 'But now I'll get her fed.'

'Hand her over,' Mary called, startling John. She was leaning against the wall, smiling.

'Sorry,' John said. 'I thought I'd change her first.'

'No, that's fine,' She said. 'I enjoyed watching the two of you being defeated by a sleepsuit.'

'I think NASA designed those things,' John said. He handed the baby to her. 'Do you want tea?'

'That'd be marvellous. Can I feed out here?'

'Course,' John said, before remembering and turning to Sherlock. 'Unless it bothers you?'

'No, not at all. I don't eat in the bedroom, so I don't see why she should have to.'

'Thanks,' Mary said.

'I'll make the tea. You go and sit down.'

'OK, I'm giving in,' John said. 'Where are my painkillers?'

Sherlock handed him a little box without comment. John took them and went to sit beside Mary. Sherlock leaned against the counter and watched the small family. Scarlet, now that she was settled on Mary's breast was quiet. Mary was quiet too, wincing just a little against the sensation, but generally calm and happy. She glanced up when John joined them. He mostly watched the baby eat while occasionally glancing up at Mary.

Sherlock felt distant, as if the others weren't aware of his presence. After the initially sting, this satisfied him. John was slowly resolving the third concern, which was clearly the right priority and would possibly help with the second one. The first would sort itself out over time. That would leave time and energy for the fourth concern. The fourth concern… well, only time would tell.


	10. A little walk and a little talk

**Just to let you all know I'm running a conference for the next three days, so that will reduce my writing time massively. I do have a fun chapter coming up though!**

**Once again, thank you for all your comments!**

**Pip xxx**

* * *

10 – A little walk and a little talk.

The warm air was soothing and the bees buzzing around the flowers in the beds gave John a pleasant sense of calm. He was pushing the pram, while Mary walked beside him, her arm linked through his. They weren't moving particularly quickly. Scarlet was sleeping, and her six day old face was calm and, John thought, beautiful.

'She is lovely, isn't she,' Mary said.

It wasn't intended to be answered really. It was just a statement that was uttered by various people recently, in the way that you might say 'it's warm' or 'I'm hungry.' It was meant more as audible punctuation than a conversation. John answered anyway.

'She is lovely.'

Initially he'd answer just because he thought he should, and also because Sherlock at least seemed to have a pressing desire for confirmation, as if his belief in her loveliness might not be correct. So John had confirmed it, and eventually he had felt it, and now, it was easy to echo the lovely statements, because he knew that she was.

'Just think,' Mary said, 'the last time we were walking around this park, I was complaining that she'd never, ever turn up, and you kept telling me that walking sometimes started things off, until we were both so pissed of that we just went home.'

'It's weird to think of it that way. Seems like months ago.'

'This time last week, thinking about it.'

'If I'd have known at the time that getting shot was a faster way, I'd have arranged it sooner.'

'No. No thank you,' she snuggled against him for a step. 'Anyhow, I wasn't even late. I was just impatient. Earlier wouldn't have been better.'

'Mm. Shall we sit?'

'If you want.'

They sat down next to each other on a park bench, and John put his feet on the bottom of the pram to keep it moving gently back and forth.

'How's your side?' Mary asked.

'Fine. Can't even feel it.'

'Good. How's everything else?'

'Mm?'

He glanced at her. There was a slightly knowing, but slightly concerned look on her face. He considered pleading ignorance or at least being truthful, but he was too peaceful.

'OK, I think.'

'Good.' She fiddled slightly with the cover on the pram. 'Have you asked him yet?'

'No, not yet.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Is it because you're worried he'll say no, or you're worried he'll say yes?'

John gave her a sheepish look. 'I really don't know.'

She smiled, and they sat silently together for a while.

'Are you sure?' John asked suddenly. 'Are you absolutely sure? It's a big decision, and I don't want you to feel pushed into it.'

'I don't.'

'I don't want there to be any tension between you and him.'

'There won't be.'

'Any extra tension.'

She gave him a tight smile, and they sat quietly again.

'I will admit,' Mary said, 'I'm glad we're back home now. That's a relief.'

He nodded at her.

'That doesn't mean that I'm not grateful for everything that he's done for us.'

'No.'

'It just means I'm glad of the space.'

'OK.'

There was more quiet. Bees buzzed, breezes breezed. The baby snuffled in her sleep.

'I just…' she started, at the exact moment that he said; 'Do you…'

'No, you go first,' she said.

He shook his head. 'No. I want to hear what you have to say. I'm spending too much of my life either guessing or assuming, and I need to know what you have to say.'

She nodded. After a pause, she spoke again. 'Occasionally, I find Sherlock's presence intimidating.'

John's heart leapt to defensive mode, but he forced himself to wait.

'The thing is,' Mary said, 'I find it difficult knowing that he loves you more than I do.'

'But I don't,' John said. 'I can't compare the way I feel for you and him, it's…' he broke off. 'Wait; what?'

She smiled. 'Don't get me wrong; I love you. I honestly love you more than I've ever loved another human being.' She glanced in the pram, 'with the obvious exception.'

'Granted.'

'But that man loves you with every fibre of his being. I don't mean physically. I don't think so anyhow, but I admit I don't let my mind dwell on that too much. It's more that there is literally nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you. There are a number of things I wouldn't do for you.' She paused to smile at him. 'Please don't find that too upsetting; I thought it was normal.'

John's mind reeled. 'Well I think…' he thought of the woman at his side and worked steadily through his immediate thoughts and discovered, to his surprise, that he wouldn't blindly act on her behalf either. Just to check that this was fair, he considered what he would and wouldn't do for Sherlock too. He was vaguely pleased to see that list was longer, though not actually by much. He looked in the pram and found Scarlet's list was non-existent.

'It is normal,' he said. 'There are things I wouldn't do for you, even if you wanted me to. If you actually _needed_ me to do something, then that list is shorter, but there are still things there that I couldn't compromise on. I think that's normal. I think that's OK.' He hoped it was.

'I think it is,' she said. 'I think it's probably a good thing to have your own sense of self and your own integrity, even while you love another person. But I still find it intimidating that Sherlock would do literally anything for you.'

'Yes, but it's not necessarily love. Remember he has no concept of boundaries and even less common sense.'

She smiled. 'That's true. You're not upset are you?'

'No,' he shook his head.

'Good. Because I thought it was better if the three of us knew exactly where we stood. And as that's never going to happen, it might be better that at least two of us do.'

She smiled at him and he returned it.

Scarlet stirred slightly, so Mary took the pram and rocked it back and forth again.

'So now we know where we stand,' she said, 'and given that Sherlock would do anything for you, and I'm beginning to think by extension Scarlet too, then I think we should ask him.'

'You're sure?'

'I'm sure. But I don't think you are. I think you need to talk to him.'

'I do talk to him. We've been bloody living with him until yesterday.'

'You've got your wife, and you've got your best friend. You can't go on feeling angry at both of us. Start with him. I can wait.'

John chewed on his bottom lip.

oOo

John walked into Sherlock's kitchen. The table had been cleared of baby equipment and had been reclaimed by compounds and flasks and test-tubes. Sherlock looked up from his microscope, and instantly threw his arms up in a gesture of query.

'What?' John asked.

'Where's Scarlet?'

'She's at home with Mary.'

Sherlock sighed and went back to his microscope.

'I've been banished from the house,' John went on. 'I'm supposed to be talking to you, but I'm completely happy to just sit on the sofa for a few hours, and then I'll go home and tell her we made friendship bracelets or something.'

'Fine. Put the kettle on first.'

John walked around the table to do this, and as it was boiling, he turned and looked at the back of Sherlock's head as he looked down the microscope, occasionally breaking off to make neat little notes on a shabby little notepad.

'What are you looking at?' John asked.

'Pollen.'

'For a case or for kicks?'

Sherlock straightened up. 'It's always good to refresh my knowledge. I was thinking of composing a new blog post on it.'

'Really? You haven't written for years now.'

'Yes. It's likely that I won't bother.' He turned on his seat to look John up and down. He seemed dissatisfied by something. 'What is it? Pain or sleeplessness?'

John grimaced. 'Well, the pain's all but gone, but the sleep is getting better in increments too.'

'Huh.'

'I guess I just look this way at the moment.'

John finished the tea and put a cup on the table next to Sherlock. He took his own through to the living room.

'Oh, and it turns out Mary doesn't love me either,' he called. 'So that all works out then.'

Sherlock sat up and looked at him. John was already embarrassed.

'Sorry,' he muttered. 'That wasn't fair. We think we both love each other, but apparently we're both completely clueless as to what that might mean. I'm just… I don't know. I'm in a foul mood.'

'Yes.'

'I have been for a while.'

'Yes. Oh, that reminds me,' Sherlock stood up. 'I've got something for you.'

John sat up, intrigued, and Sherlock picked up a document from the table and handed it to him. It was eighteen pages closely typed and stapled in the corner.

'What's this?' The word 'Mary' popped out at him several times as he flicked through.

'It's my notes from the labour. Mary was clear you wouldn't want it recorded so I…'

John's eyes swam. He closed them quickly and rammed his fingertips into them, hunching over. He tried to swallow but the lump in his throat was too painful. He was relatively certain that he could control himself if he just concentrated, but the emotion was forceful and it came in waves. He very quietly concentrated on his breathing, forcing it to come slowly and steadily.

When he could risk opening his eyes again, Sherlock was back at the microscope, looking intently at his pollen again.

'Sorry about that,' John said as brightly as he could manage. He cleared his throat. 'I'll read it later, if that's OK.'

'I don't need feedback,' Sherlock said, not looking up. 'It's there if you want it, that's all.'

'It's good. Thank you.'

Sherlock looked up from the microscope and spent some time considering John. Eventually he shrugged.

'Did Mary indicate what we should be talking about?'

'No. Not really.'

'Well that's rubbish. She should know by now that neither you nor I can manage this stuff.'

'I think it was meant to be general air-clearing.'

'Oh.' Sherlock frowned. 'I didn't like it when you used to take showers at any time of the day. Ideally showers should be in the morning or evening, though I would have managed if you could at least have been consistent, but I couldn't work out the pattern at all. I never knew from day to day when you'd suddenly want to wash.' Sherlock sighed. 'I've been holding that back for years.'

John sniggered. 'Does it help to know I had a shower at any time when I fancied a shower?'

'No. Mary's right though. It does feel better that you know.'

John pointed. 'Body parts in the fridge!'

'Oh I already know you hated that. I knew at the time; I just didn't care. It bothers me that you have my parents' phone number.'

'It bothers me that you let me believe your parents were dead.'

'I don't see why that should surprise you; I let you believe I was dead.' John snorted, and Sherlock smiled in return. 'Anyhow, that was because I suspected that if you knew they were alive, you'd somehow obtain their phone number and start having an independent relationship with them.'

'You really don't like to share, do you?'

'That shouldn't be news. There. Are we all covered now?'

'Yes, I think so. I'm not giving up their numbers though. They might come in useful.'

'Humph.' Sherlock went back to his microscope. 'By the by, I know what you did to Billy Wiggins.'

John stiffened. 'Billy Wiggins and I have an understanding now. It's fine.'

'Billy Wiggins had a broken nose and two black eyes.'

'And yet he still felt able to poison my wife, so I don't think he was that bothered.'

'It was only a very mild poison…'

John glared. 'Has he supplied you with anything since?'

'No.'

'There we are then. It was worth it.'

Sherlock shrugged this away. 'I haven't asked since. You need to learn to trust me.'

'You need to learn to be trustworthy.'

Sherlock looked ashamed suddenly, and he looked down at the table.

'Sorry,' John said.

'It's fine.' Sherlock didn't look up again though.

'I do trust you,' John said quietly. 'But it still eats me alive that you've seen my wife's… parts.'

Sherlock looked up quickly, concern all over his face.

'I know it was necessary,' John said. 'It still hurts.'

'I really didn't mean to.'

'I know that too.'

Sherlock stood up and came back into the living room. 'There was one half second when I forgot to look away. That was all; I promise you. It's all in my notes; I hadn't intended to keep it from you, but the opportunity hasn't really arisen to tell you. So I wrote the notes.'

'I know.' John sighed, quietly. 'That's not really what I mean though.' Sherlock sat down and stayed quiet, just watching him, waiting, and John tried his best to organise his thoughts. 'I chose not to look at what was on the memory stick. That was a decision that I made after months of soul searching.'

'I know,' Sherlock said.

'I wanted to make it work from where we were. Remember the wedding?' Sherlock nodded. 'I wanted that back. That day was…' He shook his head.

'I've never seen you as happy as you were that day,' Sherlock said.

'I've never felt as happy as I did that day. But I look back at it and it just makes me sad. It's like, it felt amazing, but it was all a lie. All of it. I thought that by burning the bloody memory stick I'd be able to move on, but I can't.' He looked up sharply at his friend. 'And it really doesn't help that I know that you've unearthed all of it for yourself.'

Sherlock didn't deny this. He looked guilty, but he didn't try to deny it or to justify his actions.

'I know,' John went on, 'I _know_ that it's just because you can't bloody not know anything. I know that it bothered you far more intensely that it bothered even me, simply because of the way your mind works. I know how it crawled under your skin.' John stopped as his voice threatened to give ou. He got it under control as well as he could. 'But it pisses me off that you did that.'

Sherlock nodded, but he still didn't speak.

'And now, on top of all of that, you've seen my wife at the moment in which she was most… exposed. When she was stripped away of everything else, and had no option but to show her strength and courage and will, and you were there for that and I wasn't, and that pisses me off too.' Tears threatened again, but he was able to just blink them away this time. 'I feel like the third wheel in my own marriage. So there we are.'

'You're wrong,' Sherlock said quietly.

'I'm sorry?' John laughed in shock.

'You're not wrong about my actions, but you're wrong about my motives.'

'Right,' John said, feeling increasingly annoyed.

'You are right, I researched Mary and learned what I could about her, but it wasn't simple curiosity.'

John shifted back in his chair, and Sherlock sat forward in his.

'You know how you felt when you sought out Billy Wiggins in order to smash his face up? I think I was doing the equivalent to Mary.'

John blinked.

'You see,' Sherlock went on, 'I was furious with myself. The wedding distracted me entirely. I was so determined to make sure that your day was perfect that I neglected to consider the person you were marrying. I assumed your choice would be sound, which, in retrospect, was a mistake.'

Another laugh burst out of John which had nothing whatsoever to do with humour. Sherlock shook it off.

'John, I let you stand in that church and make promises to a woman who had lied continuously to you since the moment she met you. I allowed that to happen, and it's…'

'What?'

'It's the thing I regret most in the world. I too hope that you can get back some of what you had with her, because I became distracted and…' Sherlock seemed to have run out of words. He sat back and descended into silence.

John picked at the staple in the document he was holding.

'How could you have known?' he asked eventually. 'You had no reason to suspect her any more than…' John broke off. Sherlock had shifted, almost imperceptibly. 'What?'

'I knew she was a liar within minutes of meeting her,' Sherlock said. 'I knew she had secrets, and I knew she lied, and I did nothing. That's why I was so angry. I made a mistake by letting these things go, and I let you down in the worst possible way.'

John absorbed this.

'For what it's worth,' Sherlock said, 'I am sorry.'

John nodded.

'Me too.'

Sherlock waited for a minute.

'I suppose if it would help to look at what I've uncovered, you'd have asked to do so by now,' he said.

John smiled. 'Yes, I would have done.'

'I will tell you anything you want to know.'

'I know.' He sighed. 'But you don't need to.' He shrugged. 'I made a copy of the stick before I burned it.' There was something gratifying about the look of surprise on Sherlock's face. 'I needed more time to decide, but I also needed to let Mary know before Scarlet was born, so I made a copy. I still haven't decided whether I'm going to look at it. Turns out I'm quite slow with these things.'

'But you said you'd chosen not to look! Because of the ridiculously notion that you can return to how things were.'

'Yes, I did decide that. I've decided that many times before and since. That doesn't mean I'm not going to have a back-up plan in case I change my mind.'

Sherlock smiled at him, and John felt there was a tiny amount of respect behind the smile.

'But if you looked,' Sherlock said, 'then I'd no longer have knowledge that you didn't, and things might be more settled between us.'

John smiled. 'Yeah, but it might screw up my marriage entirely, and I'm not sure which relationship is more important right now.'

'Oh. Well yes. Of course.'

John smiled at him. 'I will ask though; is there anything that you've learned that leads you to suspect either Scarlet or I are in any imminent danger, from Mary or from anyone else.'

'No.'

John nodded. 'OK then. That's enough for now.'

'Really?'

John smiled and stretched his legs. 'Yes it is. I trust you. Now, if I have a half hour nap on your sofa, would you promise not to tell Mary?'

'Of course. I'm happy to substantiate the friendship bracelets lie.'

'OK. Good then.'


	11. The big question

**Hello all. I'm so sorry; I lost my USB stick for a few days, and then worked myself into a right old slump where I hated ever word that I wrote. I am now reunited with the stick, though still in a bit of a slump, so please accept this short chapter as a stop-gap, and hopefully I'll produce something better over the weekend.**

**Thanks for all the love (and concern). I'm basically fine.**

**Pip xxx**

* * *

As John climbed the stairs at Baker Street, Sherlock's voice sounded from the living room.

'If you're not bringing Scarlet, don't bother coming in!'

This was followed by a quiet, admonished; 'Sherlock!'

John grinned, and with Scarlet safely in her carrier, he stepped just inside the doorway.

'Sorry, I don't want to interrupt. We'll wait downstairs.'

'No you won't!' Sherlock stood up and started pulling his parents from the sofa. 'They can leave now. No, wait!' he let go of them and seized the carrier. 'You can look at the baby first. See! Didn't I tell you?'

John was certain that Sherlock looked slightly anxious, behind all the bluster. He relaxed as Mr and Mrs Holmes smiled at Scarlet.

'She is lovely,' Mrs Holmes said. 'I've heard all about her. Congratulations.'

'Thank you,' John said, grinning sheepishly. 'I'm sorry about that…' he gestured at Sherlock who had put the carrier on the table and was unstrapping Scarlet from it. 'I think I might have broken him a bit. I imagine he'll be back to normal before long though.'

'It's fine,' Mrs Holmes answered. 'I've been waiting over thirty years for him to show an interest in another human being.'

'Well, I'm honoured that he's decided on my daughter for that.'

'Oh, I don't think it was just the baby,' she said.

John blushed and looked away.

'We'll leave you to it,' Mr Holmes said, patting John on the shoulder. 'I hope it all goes well for you. Apparently young Scarlet is already far superior to all of her peers, so you're off to a good start.'

'Thank you,' John said.

Mrs Holmes was smiling at Sherlock, who now had Scarlet in his arms.

'She's awake,' Sherlock said. 'She's awake and not screaming. Why?'

'She's getting a bit more alert, that's all,' John said.

'Huh. We'll have to use that.'

'Good.' John smiled broadly at Mrs Holmes.

'You know,' she said, 'I'd given up on grandchildren a long time ago. There's something about that sight that makes me a bit… wistful.'

'You're not getting grandchildren from me,' Sherlock growled. 'Go and bother Mycroft if that's what you want. What's wrong with her?' he turned to John. 'She's fussing now.'

'Yeah, with the wakefulness, she's expressed a preference for being entertained. She wants to look around.'

'Early signs of good observational skills. Marvellous.'

John grinned. 'I'll see your parents out, shall I?'

'They're ridiculous, but I think they can manage to find the door.'

'You stay here, John,' Mr Holmes said. 'He's clearly besotted, but I'm not sure I'd trust him alone with her just yet. Good luck with her, and congratulations again.'

They left, chatting quietly together.

Sherlock sat down and attempted to position Scarlet upright on his knee.

'She can't sit up yet,' John said. 'She wants to look at things, but you'll have to support her head.'

'What things? Oh, pass me my skull.'

'No, not your skull. Here, try this.' He dug in his bag and handed Sherlock a brightly coloured cloth block with different fabrics on the sides. It had a bell in it.

Sherlock laid Scarlet flat on his lap with her head at his knees so that he could see her. He took the block and waved it in front of her, and she obligingly kicked and waved.

'Huh,' he said. 'I wonder which side elicits the strongest reaction. Don't distract her; I'm starting an experiment.'

John grinned and sat down opposite him.

'Look, can you stop studying Scarlet for a second. There's something we want to ask you.'

'What?' Sherlock glanced up and frowned. 'Where's Mary?'

'Downstairs, hopefully relaxing with Mrs Hudson. I suggested she stay at home, but as she's the milk bar at the moment, she wanted to be close by. Now can you concentrate a second?'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him.

'Right. OK,' John said. Scarlet kicked Sherlock's hand, and he shook the block some more while he watched John. 'You'd probably already guessed that we're going to have Scarlet christened.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Oh, and you need an event coordinator?'

'We need a godfather.'

Sherlock blinked.

'Now, we know that it's not a given…'

'What? Why not? Who else have you got lined up! There is no better person than me. It has to be me!'

John smiled. 'Yes, and I'm pleased that you feel that way, but logistically, you'll be asked to stand in a church and make a promise to a deity you don't believe in, and renounce another that you also don't believe in. I'm just saying; if that's against your moral code, then Mary and I understand.'

'I don't have a moral code.'

John grinned again. 'Mary thought you'd say that.'

'They're just particular words said in a particular building.'

'Not to everyone. There is a school of thought that suggests that the minimum requirement for a godparent is that they believe in God.'

'No; if someone's going to be godfather, it's going to be me.'

'Yes, that's pretty much what I thought, but the choice isn't you or someone else; it's you or nobody else. If you say no, that's fine. She can live without a godfather. Mrs Hudson will be godmother and…'

'No, I want to do it. Now is that settled?'

'Yes. That's settled.' John watched as Sherlock went back to waving the block at Scarlet. 'There's another question though. One that's a little more important.'

'Mm? What's that?'

John sighed.

'I'm perfectly capable of entertaining your daughter while listening to you,' Sherlock said.

John watched him wave the block.

'Well?' Sherlock asked.

'You know in this country, godparents have no legal jurisdiction over a child, right?'

'Mm. So?'

'So, as well as selecting godparents, Mary and I have to choose who'll step in as Scarlet's legal guardian should something happen to the two of us. It'll go in our will, as a legal thing.'

The cloth block stopped moving, but Sherlock didn't look up.

'And our first choice for that role would be you.'

The block didn't move.

'Sherlock?'

John waited.

'I mean, it is good that you're not answering impulsively. It's an important decision, and I want you to take your time deciding.

Scarlet gurgled a bit.

'Though some indication that you're still alive would be good.'

Sherlock stood suddenly. 'Excuse me a moment.' He charged to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. He waited a few minutes, wondering if he'd ever see his child again. Then he decided that Sherlock would probably bring her back at the first sign of a dirty nappy.

'Where's Sherlock?' Mary asked from the doorway.

'In his room.'

'Ah. Where's Scarlet?'

'With him.'

'Did he say yes?'

'Yes to the godfathering. He's still thinking about the other.' He smiled at her and whispered; 'I may have made him cry.'

'Oh,' she whispered back.

'Don't know whether that's about the responsibility, or the fact that I trust him that much, or maybe he's just remembered something sad from when he was seven.'

'Or it could be that he's imagining how he'd feel if you died.'

'I doubt that very much.'

John pulled himself out of his chair, and walked through the kitchen to knock on Sherlock's door.

'Sherlock? Are you OK in there?'

'Yes.'

'Can I come in?'

There was no answer, but John opened the door anyway. Sherlock had Scarlet settled against his shoulder, and she was showing signs of going back to sleep. Sherlock was pacing up and down his room, but he stopped and looked at him.

'I suppose you'll want her back for now.'

'There is no 'for now'. I want her back. She is my child.'

Sherlock gave him something of a glare.

'I'm beginning to feel slightly concerned that you'll kill me and Mary in our sleep,' John said smiling.

Sherlock frowned. 'Why would I wait for you to be asleep?'

John grinned. 'Look, I'm pleased that you're thinking about it, but I need to know… _we_ need to know that you've given this proper consideration. It's a lot. Children... well, they need a lot. They need lots of time, and lots of money, for people to be at home with them and not randomly leaving to run around London, and all sorts, and it's a huge commitment. I don't want you to answer today. I know what your answer today would be, and I want to know that you've properly thought about all of it. OK?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Yes. That seems like a mature, sensible thing to do.'

'Thank you,' John said grinning. 'Now, can I have my daughter back?'

'No.'


	12. The big answer

**Hello! I am fully intending to personally reply to the reviews for the last chapter later this afternoon. Sorry for my tardiness, but I wanted to get the latest chapter up and have limited time at the moment.**

**A quick note for anyone who was concerned - I have no intention of killing off either Mary or John in this story. I've done that before, and it's not what this story is about. I'm not sure where I'll be taking this next, as this chapter is the last of the set pieces I'd planned (the birth, the conversation between John and Sherlock, and this one). I'm going to leave it open in case something else occurs to me, but for now, this will be it.**

**Once again, thank you so much for your support. It really means a lot.**

**Pip xxx**

* * *

Sherlock was quiet and preoccupied for the next few weeks. John was only mildly concerned. He visited every few days just to keep an eye on him, and once they walked Scarlet in her pushchair around Regent's Park. Sherlock was introverted and laconic, though still happy enough to take over with Scarlet in order to give her identification pointers on several of the shrubs in the borders.

Finally, on a Saturday morning, just as Mary and John were planning their day over breakfast, John got the text.

'It says; 'I'm ready,'' he said, holding his phone up to Mary.

'Ready for what?'

'I'm assuming ready to give us our answer. But it's Sherlock, so it might be entirely unrelated. Hang on…' He dialled Sherlock's phone.

'Well I'm not doing this over the phone!' Sherlock answered crossly. Then he disconnected.

'I think we've been summoned,' John said.

oOo

Sherlock was pacing the floor and listening for the door downstairs for nearly two hours as he waited for the Watsons to arrive. He found himself seething during this time, as if they hadn't all been waiting long enough for him to sort through everything without the added couple of hours for their selfishness.

There was a moment of panic when he suddenly thought that there might have been a hideous Tube accident, which might have claimed the lives of the two senior Watsons (though surely not the junior one), and they hadn't yet got all the paperwork in place about his guardianship. He was running through scenarios which involved convincing a judge that negotiations had already been opened prior to the hideous accident, and perhaps even a verbal contract was in place, and he'd lined up his character witnesses in order of importance, while simultaneously starting to dial Lestrade to ask about/inform of, a hideous Tube accident between Crouch End and Marylebone.

When he played all these thoughts back, it occurred to him that he was perhaps being a little irrational. He cancelled the call and stopped in the middle of the room and wondered why this all seemed to matter so much. He tried to file it all in a place where it was simple, and it didn't matter, just a small contractual agreement between friends, but his heart recoiled in an interesting, though slightly alarming fashion, so he started pacing again.

Finally there was the sound of the street door being opened, and the Watsons entered, with apparently Mary pushing the pushchair while John carried something heavy. They chatted casually as between them they pulled Scarlet's pram up the stairs, stopping to catch their breath on the middle landing. Sherlock was slightly disappointed that this activity suggested that Scarlet wasn't awake.

Finally they all got inside. Mary parked the pram in the corner by the sofa and sat down next to it. John dropped the changing bag off his shoulder beside it, and placed a large, wicker picnic hamper on the coffee table.

'Good morning,' he said.

'Only just!' Sherlock snapped back.

John merely laughed. 'We brought lunch.' He dropped down into his armchair.

'No, you can't sit there!' Sherlock said, pulling him out again. 'You need to sit on the sofa, next to Mary, where you can see the television.'

John laughed again, but obligingly moved, and Sherlock pushed John's chair back several feet to ensure there was an unrestricted view of the screen. Mary opened the basket and started spreading a red checked tablecloth over the top of the table.

'What's this?' Sherlock asked.

'It's lunch,' she said. 'Don't worry; we've got enough for all of us.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'We'll leave you some.' She sat up and smiled.

'So,' John said, smiling. 'What have you got to tell us?'

Sherlock was astonished. 'My answer!'

'Well? What is it?'

'OK,' Sherlock started. The Watson's both looked up, expectantly. 'OK. Right.' He joined his hands at them. Then he looked down at his hands, wondering why he always did this. He dropped them again. 'Right.'

John smiled. 'Take your time.' He helped himself to a cheese roll and took an enormous bite.

'OK,' Sherlock said.

'Just OK?' Mary asked. 'I was expecting something a little more…' she shrugged. 'Wordy.'

John sniggered.

'Words!' Sherlock said. 'Yes! Words. OK.' He turned the television on and pressed the enter button on his laptop. They waited an annoying second for the screen to flicker and to display the powerpoint presentation he'd been working on for weeks. 'Right. Mr and Mrs Watson. John and Mary.' He waited, then pointed, then realised they probably knew who they were. 'You wanted to be sure you could entrust the safety and wellbeing of your child, Scarlet,' another accidental point 'to me, Sherlock Holmes, in the untimely event of your deaths.'

'We did,' John said, still smiling annoyingly.

'I took it upon myself to work through the various different needs a child might have through her life, and the purpose of this presentation is demonstrate how I intend to fulfil those needs.'

'OK,' John said, taking another bite of his roll.

Sherlock pressed the key for the first slide.

'As you see, I have divided these needs into basic subsets. Financial, physical, educational, emotional, and spiritual.'

John guffawed. 'Spiritual?'

'We'll go in order, please,' Sherlock said tightly. 'Financial first. I have gathered the annual statements of my current accounts, trust funds, savings accounts, ISAs and pensions, which I've printed and placed in the packs for you to take home and peruse at your leisure.'

'Printed packs?' Mary asked.

'Yes.' He lifted the two smart, blue folders from the table and held them up. 'I'll distribute them at the end, as I don't want you to become distracted.'

'OK.'

'Now if you could stop interrupting please.'

'Sorry, Sherlock,' Mary said contritely but without any of the three major tells for genuine contrition.

'Right, my income fluctuates year on year, however, there is a clear trajectory as my notoriety increases, and, excluding the two years where I was assumed dead,' he paused, 'once again, sorry for that. Taking those two years out of the equation, I earn, through clients, investments, interest on accounts and so forth, approximately £275,000 per annum, and that is increasing at approximately 23% per year. Now out of that income…' he stopped. Both John and Mary had frozen with their food part way to their mouths. 'What. Is that not enough? I thought that was reasonable.'

John put his roll down and cleared his throat. 'That is a reasonable income, yes, Sherlock. But know this; I am _never_ paying for another cab.'

Sherlock calculated. 'OK. Sorry.'

'You borrow money from me all the time!'

'I borrow _cash_. Money I have, but cash is occasionally more awkward.'

'But you hardly ever pay me back!' John squealed.

Sherlock was genuinely surprised. 'But you only need to ask! I assumed you didn't need it.'

'I assumed you were a poverty stricken freelancer!'

'You've seen my fees on occasion. I thought you knew.'

'Yeah, I've seen a few big ones, but most of the people who walk in off the street you don't charge at all. Apparently the thrill of the puzzle is enough for you.'

'It is! On account of earning approximately £275,000 from more affluent clients and from investments.'

'Right, right, OK,' John put his hands up. 'OK, we've established that you could probably afford a child or… twenty. Fine.'

'But you haven't seen my outgoings yet! Plus, we have to take into account that if I were a lone parent, I would have to reduce my working hours substantially. I'd probably restrict my cases to those lower paid ones which could easily be solved during the working day.'

John nodded. 'How much of a reduction do you estimate?'

'Er…' Sherlock looked down at the screen. 'It's on here somewhere…' he flicked through nursery prices, cost of clothes, shoes and appropriate food and reached the ones where he'd calculated his reduced income. 'Right, I went through my back catalogue and only counted the income on those cases which could be solved quickly or in working hours and… here…' he clicked again. 'Yes! Here. I'd reduce by fifty to a hundred thousand pounds, and when we take out the outgoings, I'll still be left with at least sixty thousand per year for emergencies. Increasing, as I say, by approximately 23% per year.'

'What sort of emergencies do you envision having?' John asked, sounding more than a little belligerent.

'Well I'll probably cover the cost of your funerals…' he started.

This made both the others giggle somewhat hysterically.

'I don't think you're taking this seriously!' he said. 'This is your child we're talking about.'

'Sorry, Sherlock,' Mary said again. 'Come and have some food. I think you'll be fine.'

'I don't want any food.'

'When did you last eat?' John asked. 'Because you're sounding a little manic.'

'I'm fine.'

'Right, so you want us to entrust our daughter to you, but you can't reliably feed yourself.'

Sherlock hesitated. He didn't want to concede the point, but he also didn't want to accidentally faint. He stepped forward and snatched a sandwich from the pile, and stuffed it whole, into his mouth. Mary grinned at him.

'Right,' Sherlock said, when he'd managed to swallow it. 'That leads us nicely onto physical needs. Obviously I can provide ample shelter.' He gestured in general around the flat. 'I've ordered stairgates for the tops and bottoms of all the staircases, and safety catches for all the cupboards and appliances in the kitchen. You'll note the tidy appearance of the kitchen table.' He stepped back and the others leaned to look. 'There's now a safe in the downstairs bedroom which will be exclusively used for all potentially dangerous substances…'

'Two years!' John suddenly yelled. 'Three years I asked him to do that!' He glared at Sherlock. 'Body parts in the fridge?'

'Strictly speaking, body parts aren't potentially dangerous.' John narrowed his eyes dangerously. 'But I may consider getting a second, lockable fridge put into the bedroom too.'

'Two years!' John said. He turned to Mary. 'You know what? We should have had a baby ages ago.'

'You haven't known me that long,' she pointed out.

There was a fleeting shadow across John's face before he shrugged that off. 'That's true. So she's physically safe. That's good to know.'

'Thank you,' Sherlock said, going back to his slides to get his bearings again. 'Right, so… food. Now, I have run tests on all the major brands of baby formula, and have decided that while Aptimil offers slightly better fibre, SMA beats it hands down on sugar content. I've checked various websites, and they largely suggest you try each one to see which works best for the individual child.' An annoyance crept over him and he stamped his foot, though only gently. 'You'd be amazed at the amount of advice which is bandied about, and yet every argument seems to end up with 'it really does depend on what works for the child in question.' Stupid, unscientific mothers.'

'You've been looking at websites?' John asked.

'Yes, and reading books. Some of them are equally vacuous.' He picked up the top one of the pile. ''How to Talk so that Kids Will Listen, and Listen so that Kids Will Talk.' I know how to talk,' he muttered, tossing the book gently to John. 'Besides, everybody listens when I talk.'

'No, sometimes I tune you out entirely,' John said, opening the book at random.

Sherlock couldn't quite tell if he were being serious or not.

'Huh,' John said. 'There are some good tips in here though. Can I borrow this?'

'Of course.'

'Good. I know an annoying child I need to get to listen.'

Sherlock frowned at the pram. 'She's six weeks old.'

Both John and Mary smirked and he suddenly realised.

'Right,' he muttered, hammering at the enter key. 'Sterilisers and bottles…'

'Er, Sherlock,' Mary said, raising her hand.

'Yes? You have a question?'

'Not so much a question,' she wrinkled her nose. 'It's just I think I'd feel more comfortable if we all assumed I'd at least make it through the breastfeeding.' She gave him a bright smile.

He looked down at his slides and then back at her.

'Yes. I can see how it might look, but I assure you it was for entirely practical reasons…'

'I understand. I'm just saying.' There was a small squawk from the pram. 'Oops, speaking of…' She got up to gather Scarlet.

John was now engrossed in his book, and Sherlock feared he'd lost his audience slightly.

'I have other slides,' he said.

'Oh good,' John said. 'I'm going to need tea. Anyone else want one?'

'Please, Mary said, smiling at Scarlet as she sat down, fumbling with her top.

'Sherlock?' John asked.

Sherlock fought the urge to decline petulantly. 'Please,' he muttered.

'I will listen,' John said, getting up. 'I'm just saying; it requires tea.'

Sherlock nodded. He watched Mary with Scarlet intently, and saw how the snuffly baby went almost limp as she took the breast.

'I would prefer it if she were breastfed,' he said. 'All the evidence suggests it has many beneficial qualities.'

'Yes Sherlock,' Mary said, nodding. 'There's nothing creepy about that at all.'

'What have you done to the tea?' John called. 'I can't get it out!'

'I told you about the safety catches,' Sherlock said, going through to assist.

'But it's _tea._'

'It's contains caffeine! If it was accidentally consumed by a child in its raw state and in large quantities, it would cause palpitations, mania, and might have a profoundly laxative effect.' He opened the tin and handed it to John. 'And I don't need to tell you it has addictive qualities.'

'Thank you,' John said, taking it back. 'Have you sabotaged the sugar too?'

'It's protected, not sabotaged.' He opened it. 'Cavities, John. Cavities.'

John shook his head and sighed as he finished the tea. They carried it through to the living room. Mary had perched her picnic plate on Scarlet and was eating her biscuits one handed.

'You're getting crumbs on her head!' Sherlock said.

'Yeah. She doesn't mind.' Mary grinned at him.

'Let's get on, shall we?' he asked. 'Toddler and young child meals. Obviously I'd learn to cook; it all seems straightforward.' He waved at a pile of cookery books. 'I've mapped out meal plans on a four weekly rotation from weaning up to adulthood They're printed in your packs too. Feel free to call me if you feel any major food group is lacking in any week, but I've been careful with the measurements.'

'Have you taken growth spurts into account?' John asked. 'You'll need to feed her more on the weeks she's growing.'

'Thank you,' Sherlock said, making a note of this, and feeling gratified that John was finally taking this all seriously. Then he glanced up and noticed him balancing small cakes on Scarlet's body as some sort of game.

'Shall we move on to education?'

'Please do,' Mary said.

'I'm assuming you won't want her privately educated.'

'No,' John and Mary chorused.

'Quite. Baker Street is in the catchment area of three schools, and I've downloaded the most recent OFSTED reports to all of them, and visited two. The third visit had to be delayed due to something on their part.' He sniffed. 'They seemed to want to prioritise this year's entry.'

'How could they!' John said, grinning annoyingly again.

'Anyhow, the web addresses and reports are in your packs. I should tell you that I favour St Joseph's on Church Street, but I'm prepared to take your feedback into account.'

'Are you?' John asked.

'Of course!'

'It's just that, we sort of assumed she'd be going to school close to where we live.'

Sherlock nodded eagerly. 'Of course, I should have stated that this is only relevant should you die before she starts school. If she were already settled somewhere, I would, of course, continue taking her to wherever that might be.'

John looked up; his expression a mix of surprise and something like pride. 'I'll admit I'm impressed,' he said. 'I had assumed you'd want to home school her.'

'Oh, that is by far my preference,' Sherlock said. 'But taking her needs into account, I thought it might be better for her if she's given time with people other than me.'

John smiled and his eyes sparkled. 'I knew you'd get it,' he said quietly.

'Of course,' Sherlock nodded. 'It'll be by far the quickest way of teaching her how superior she is to her peers.'

John and Mary instantly started laughing.

'Well she is!' he insisted.

'Oh, Sherlock,' Mary said.

John wiped his eyes. 'This,' he said, pointing with a slice of cake.

'This what?' Sherlock asked.

'This is what I hoped for.'

'I don't understand,' Sherlock said, feeling that the conversation was getting away from him.

'Sit down, Sherlock,' John said. 'You can send us the other slides later and we'll flick through.'

'But I haven't finished yet!' He found his concern was growing again, at the suggestion that all his work might come to nothing.

'Sit down, and we'll just ask you some questions, OK?' John said.

He sighed. 'I suppose that's fair.'

'Here, take Scarlet,' Mary said. 'She's finished now.'

This cheered him up, and he gathered her into his arms. He pulled John's chair back into position with his other arm and leg, and sat down and put his feet on it so that Scarlet could use his thighs as a backrest. She waved at him.

'Hello, you,' he said, putting his fingers in her hands for her to grasp. Without thinking about it, he pulled a face at her, opening his mouth wide. She opened hers wide too. 'She's copying me!' he said delighted. 'This truly is the cleverest baby!' He glanced up at John and Mary to find them watching him with gooey smiles and sparkling eyes. He frowned and cleared his throat. 'Sorry, you have questions.'

'Look, we are really impressed with all your research…' John said.

'It's not all research,' he said, mostly concentrating on Scarlet. 'The caffeine thing was an experiment.'

'What?'

'I was about three and was curious.' He blew his cheeks out at Scarlet. She kicked him.

He suddenly became aware of the silence and he looked up to see Mary shaking with silent laughter, and John grinning broadly. He frowned more sternly at them. 'Questions. Concentrate and ask one.'

'OK,' John said. 'Here's one. How would you deal with a twelve year old, hormonal Scarlet with PMT while she throws books at you and screams like a banshee?'

Sherlock stared at him.

'Harry,' he explained.

Sherlock looked back at the baby. She dribbled and kicked him a bit.

'I'd, er… I'd… I think…' His eyes pricked horribly as panic gripped him. 'I don't know what I'd do,' he said, looking up at them, feeling horribly ashamed that he'd ever thought he could handle such a thing as a living, breathing, (wonderful) human child. He was surprised to see they'd both taken this in their stride, and he rallied. 'Do you want me to start researching safe restraining techniques? I know some, of course, but there are child specific ones…'

'No,' John said, smiling gently. 'Just admitting that you don't know and it scares you is enough. I haven't the slightest clue how I'm going to handle that either, and I have to admit, I'm properly dreading it.'

Sherlock breathed out in relief.

'It's not a great time,' Mary said. 'It's not all bad either. Maybe she'll get off lucky.'

'Did you?' John asked, genuinely curious.

'So so,' she said. 'Oh, here's one. What would you say to her if she came home at fifteen and told you she was pregnant?'

'What?' Sherlock jerked slightly and startled Scarlet. 'Shhhh,' he said to her soothingly. He considered the question for all of three seconds before he gave up. 'No,' he said. 'It's not possible. It could never happen. There's no way that this child will ever be… _unsullied_ by anyone, ever. It simply cannot be allowed.'

Mary sniggered. 'Yeah. I hope I'm alive to see how that edict will go down.'

'I don't care if it's the wrong answer,' Sherlock said.

'Actually, you pretty much voiced my opinion word for word,' John said. 'I know I'll have to get a handle on it, but not for, say, thirty five years, hey?'

Mary laughed again.

'Of course I could, possibly, advise her on different contraceptive methods,' Sherlock said.

'We'll have to,' John agreed.

'Wait,' Mary said, 'you seem to be implying that you and Sherlock will sit down with my fifteen year old daughter to discuss contraception with her.'

'Well yes,' Sherlock said.

'Over my dead body,' Mary returned.

'Well yes,' Sherlock said. 'That's the point, isn't it? Oh, I forgot this was in the later slides, but I want to acclimatise her to Baker Street, so that it's not a terrible shock just after losing her parents. I propose that she stays with me every Friday overnight.'

'No, Sherlock,' Mary said, still smiling.

'Actually, part of me finds that idea quite appealing,' John said, raising an eyebrow at her. For a second, for an interested and precise observer, it looked as though the relationship was properly healed.

'I'm not saying never,' Mary said. 'But not until she's much older, and not every Friday.'

'We'll negotiate that later,' Sherlock said. He wrinkled his nose at Scarlet. This time it wasn't copied, but she waved her fists delightfully.

'I suppose there's only one really important question left,' John said.

Sherlock glanced up, terrified again.

'Do you actually want to have her?'

He startled. 'Yes. Of course. Didn't I say?'

'You implied it pretty strongly, but I just wanted to be sure.'

'Yes,' Sherlock said again. 'If you're happy with me.'

John shrugged. 'I suppose you'll do at a pinch. Mary? What do you think?'

'Yeah. I guess so.'

Sherlock smiled down at Scarlet feeling warm and settled and at peace with the turbulent world.

Scarlet beamed her first ever smile.


End file.
